


TAZ Amnesty Promptober (SFW)

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Accidental summoning, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Awkward Flirting, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demon Summoning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Ghosts, Halloween, Kitchen Hijinks, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mentions of Death, Mild Hurt/Comfort, More Pairings to Come - Freeform, OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends, October Prompt Challenge, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Promptober, Slow Dancing, TAZ Amnesty, indruck, local bear loves disaster moth, meet ugly, rating is for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-24 03:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20900795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: A collection of October Prompts from this list: https://thiswasinevitableid.tumblr.com/post/188068384385/downwithwritersblock-happy-halloween-i-am-so. I'll be doing two a week, on various TAZ pairings. Some canon universe, some not.UPDATE: I'm doing this for 2020 as well!





	1. You Summoned Me? (Indruck)

**Author's Note:**

> October 4th Prompt was: Summon

Duck cannot believe they talked him into wasting an entire night hanging around a graveyard. He’s fucking cold, no one brought any beer, and his high wore off hours ago. And all so they could try and spook themselves by pretending to “summon a demon.” They’d put candles out in a pattern, read some incantation from a book one of them swiped from the Cryptonomica, left “offerings” (Halloween candy and cigarettes) in the middle of the pattern. All they’d gotten was cold; not even a decent scare. 

What a bunch of bullshit.

Worse, his folks and Jane are out of town this weekend. They could have done something at his house, or at the very least he could have had someone over to fuck around without worrying about being walked in on.

As he unlocks the front door, for a moment he swears someone is behind him. 

He turns. No one there. 

Inside, he locks the door up again, trudges upstairs to try and find some way to shake off the chill. He’s so focused on locating his thick, comfy pajamas that he doesn’t bother turning on the light as he heads into his room. He’ll worry about light once he’s not so fucking cold. 

The door slams shut and he jumps, turns around to find only darkness. 

“Hello, Duck.” Says the darkness. 

His heart seizes up in his chest as red eyes appear, their glow staining his skin like blood. 

“What the fuck?”

“Not a what, Duck Newton, a who.” The darkness materializes into the shape of a man, with silvery hair and lanky limbs and a wide, sharp smile. 

“F-fine, _who_ the fuck?” 

“I’m surprised you don’t know. You summoned me, after all.” The figure takes several steps forward, backing Duck against a wall. 

“I didn’t summon shit. That thing with the candles was just-”

“A game? No, not quite. You see, when a group summons a demon, unless they specify otherwise, the demon is allowed to select who they wish to, shall we say, defer to. I chose you.” 

“Why?” Duck manages through the cobwebs of fear in clogging his throat. 

“You interest me, and I must admit I found your disillusionment with the drama of the summoning ceremony refreshing. And you soul has a rather intoxicating, complex scent.” He steps closer still, long tongue flicking out from sharp teeth. 

“Hey, back off the soul!” Duck snaps out of his freeze, shoos him backwards as if he were a particularly annoying cat. 

“Apologies, but you did ask why I chose you. And as you summoned me, the truth is you control me for the time the spell is active. Your wish is my command.” He steps further back to give Duck a path to his bed.

“Uh, that’s nice and all, but I don’t really need anythin.”

“Oh come now, everyone has something they want. No good luck you’ve been needing?”

“Nope.”

“No one who you’d like to see suffer, say, a bad accident?”

“_No_.”

“Perhaps, then, it’s more base delights you seek.” The demon is suddenly in nothing but a tight pair of boxers, and he reclines on the bed with a smile that counts as obscenity in all fifty states. 

“N-nope.” Duck clutches his pajamas in front of him. 

“There’s no shame in wanting pleasure, Duck, and I will provide it gladly.”

He wavers for a moment, and the demon must notice because his grin widens.

“Still gonna pass. No offense, but fuckin around with a demon seems like a one-way ticket to somethin bad. So you can, I dunno, just chill the hell out until you can go.”

The demon deflates.

“You really don’t want anything from me?”

“For the last time, no.”

“Oh.” His clothes return in the form of a black tank-top and what look like yoga pants, “um, well, then I suppose I’ll just…” he looks around them room, lost. 

Duck sighs.

“Take it you don’t get turned down often.”

“Um, well, I don’t get summoned often is more like it. I’m not high in demand due to some incidents.”

“Incidents?”

“I tried to stop a bridge collapse several decades ago, for starters. Very undemonic. Got me demoted to a low-level demon, the kind most people won’t summon.”

Duck had many visions for how his night was going to go, and “demon telling him his woes while looking sad in his bed” was not one of them. But he really doesn’t want to give him something evil to do. He scans the room for ideas. 

“You, uh, ever play _Tony Hawk Pro-Skater_?”

“…..No?” 

“Fine, that’s what we’re doin. You can fulfill your demonic summons or whatever by bein my player two.”

The demon cocks his head, puzzled, then shrugs, “very well.” He settles on the floor next to Duck, taking the controller he hands him.

“You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

Duck types it into the space, and they begin.

For someone with supernatural powers, Indrid is terrible at video games, but a remarkably good sport. He laughs delightedly at his errors (and laughs even harder at Ducks), listens intently when Duck gives him pointers. He also turns out to be much chattier and, in Ducks opinion, more appealing to hang out with now that he’s not doing his “ooh, I’m a demon” shtick. He’s pretty cute too, all things considered. 

Duck’s still really, really fucking cold though. Indrid notices him shivering and looks chagrined. 

“That’s my doing, I’m afraid. Anyone who was there probably got a bit of a clingy chill from me arriving, but you got the stubborn one from me following you home.”

“Can’t you make it stop?”

Indrid carefully reaches out his finger, stroking it along Ducks cheek, and his skin is unnaturally warm. Duck chases after the sensation when he moves his hand away, and the demon rests one on his shoulder, halting him.

“The fastest way to get some of my heat into you would be to kiss, but since that’s not an option given your lack of interest in me-”

“Hold up” Duck holds his hand, savoring the warmth, “my worry with kissin you is that cause you’re bound to me or whatever, you can’t refuse if you don’t want to kiss me back.”

“I thought it was fear for your well-being.”

“That too. Can be worried about two things at once.”

“What if I told you nothing bad would happen from a one-time dalliance? And that I wanted it as well?”

“Depends; you tellin the truth?

Indrid nods slowly, the gesture lacking the confidence of someone who is bluffing. 

Duck gingerly cups his cheeks and pulls him into a kiss. 

His back hits the floor in an instant, Indrid climbing on top of him hungrily. Sharp teeth nip and a long tongue teases his skin, the demons hands seemingly everywhere at once. He’s not cold anymore, he’s on fire and he doesn’t care in the slightest because Indrid feels so good in his arms, his sweet voice pouring filth and little growls into Ducks ear. 

“So very captivating, so very delectable” Indrid purrs as he drags his tongue up Ducks neck.

Right as he’s wondering whether he may actually combust, Indrids body begins giving off wisps of smoke. 

“Oh damn it. Time is up on the spell.”

“Fuck” he tries to kiss Indrids hand a final time and gets a mouthful of smoke. 

“Well, at least I ain’t freezin anymore.” 

“Glad to be of service. I very much enjoyed your company.”

“Same, uh same to you. Indrid.”

As he fades into the darkness, that same sharp grin spreads across the demons face.

“Until next time, Duck Newton.”


	2. Dance With Me (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for Oct 5th: Dancing on your grave

It’s early fall in Kepler, West Virginia. In the Monongahela National Forest, the green of summer is slipping away, replaced by luxuriant yellows, golds, and reds. 

Beneath this canopy of warm tones, Indrid Cold and Duck Newton walk side by side. There was a time when they would have walked hand in hand, the connection between them so new and fragile that they each feared breaking contact would cause the other person to disappear. 

Now there is no such fear; they’ve been beside one another for years, weathered a variety good days, bad days, and all the mundane that exists within that spectrum. 

They reach a particular grove, one they’ve passed countless times. 

“I ever tell you this was where I first fell in love with this place?” Duck gazes skyward.

“Not that I recall.” Indrid looks up as well, red glasses catching the rays of the setting sun.

“I’d come out here when I was cuttin school, liked how quiet it was, how there was no one around to hassle me about anythin. One day I was just sittin out here, in this grove, lookin around and seein how everythin fit together, how there are layers upon layers of life out here, and I kept thinkin about how those layers of life ripple out; trees make it so we can breathe, their roots keep hillsides from slidin away into town, rivers mean we ain’t all fightin mad max style for water. Don’t rightly know if it counts as a spiritual experience, but suddenly everythin made sense. I could care for this place, keep the trees from dyin or plant new ones, and that’d mean I was makin it so that my kids, and their kids, and on and on stood a snowballs chance in hell of havin a decent world to live in.”

“An awful lot of responsibility to put on ones’ shoulders.” Indrid muses.

“Made a hell of a lot more sense to me than what Minerva was goin on about at the time. Didn’t know what the fuck bein a chosen one might mean for me but this” he touches the trunk of one tree reverently “this was a responsibility I knew I could handle.”

Indrid rests his hand on the trunk next to Ducks own, although his eyes are on the ranger’s face, rather than staring up into the trees. 

“I wanna be buried here. Or scattered, dependin on what you do with my body.”

“Should I be concerned you’re bringing this up now?” Indrid asks wryly. 

“Nah, don’t plan on dyin anytime soon. But just, I dunno, guess I wanted you to know.”

“Thank you, my love.”

Duck takes his hand, turning them to face each other, “You need me to take you back to Sylvain when you die or do some special mothperson funeral or whatever, I’ll do it.”

Indrid draws him closer, “That won’t be necessary. Wherever you are laid to rest, I would like to be put as well.”

“Sap.” Duck wraps his other arm around his waist, feeling it’s strange bony angles even through the three layers his husband is wearing. 

“Me? Come now, of the two of us you are clearly the more sentimental.”

“How d’you figure?”

“I’m not the one who picked that ridiculously syrupy song for our first dance.”

“True. But I sure as hell weren’t the only one who liked it.” He sways back and forth absentmindedly, Indrid bringing his free hand to the shorter mans’ shoulder. 

“It has a rather pleasant melody.”

“Yeah?”

Duck hums the song, a bit off key, and sways Indrid in time to the notes. Indrid laughs brightly lifting his arm to spin Duck, the ranger returning to his embrace and twirling them in a slow dance across the dry leaves and soft earth. They move as one, hearts beating soft and steady, stealing kisses as they sway beneath the autumn sky.

———————————————-

In Kepler, West Virginia, many years in the before, Duck shivers with a small “brrr.”

‘You okay there Duck?” Juno turns to look at him as they close up the station.

“Yeah, just one of those little chill things. Guess someone must’ve walked over my grave.”


	3. Til Death? (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is gonna be a bit angsty at the beginning, but I promise it will all turn out okay.
> 
> Prompt for the 10th was: ““The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?“-Poe

The color is gone from Indrid Colds feathers. 

Some of this is age; feathers fade much as hair does. But there is another reason, one that can be found in the empty house he is moving through, in the deep, painful gap in the air beside him. 

Duck Newton is gone.

All things being equal, he could not have asked for a better passing for the man he loved. He spent his last days still lucid, surrounded by those who loved him, and nearly everyone from Kepler (and many from Sylvain) came to say their goodbyes. There was no monster, no painful end or violent death. He simply closed his eyes, his hand in Indrids, and did not open them again. 

Indrid had seen it coming, but any attempt to steel himself for it was useless in the face of it felt int he moment. Knowing loss, even of those he cared for, throughout his life did nothing to prepare him for the way his heart hollowed when Duck stopped breathing. 

Their friends are doing their best to care for him; Barclay and Stern bring him food, Aubrey and Dani comfort him (their children do as well). But they must go on with their own lives, as must he. 

But here, only two days after the funeral, he is a ghost in his own home. He takes his glasses off, as if the bulk and feathers of his Sylph form can insulate him from his loss. 

He sits down on the bed, tired to his bones, to his soul. But he can’t turn around, can’t lay down. He can’t look at the empty space that will be next to him. 

For a moment his mind conjures the feeling of warm, gentle fingers on his wing, the way Duck would stroke them when Indrid was upset. 

He stands up again, goes to closet and kneels down to retrieve an old shoe-box. Opens it to find a half-bar of soap, and a nearly empty bottle of aftershave, and a well-loved green scarf. He knows one day he will have to get rid of them, he will have to move on. Right now he inhales deeply, gathers the scarf into his hands and holds it to his face. Duck is all around him then, the familiar smells and texture, along with a breath of air against his cheek, tricking his brain into believing that when he opens his eyes, the man he loves will be there looking back at him. 

Lowering the scarf into his lap, he struggles to collect himself. He is so very tired of crying, of being wrung dry from the inside out and still feeling as though there is a bottomless well of sorrow in his chest. 

Something flickers in his vision. Then it solidifies into a shape, a man.

Oh heaven, Sylvain, and anything else that feels like it, help him, his mind is trying to convince him that Duck is there, kneeling in front of him. The air in the room is trying to deceive that it’s Duck’s hand brushing his fingers. 

“Hey, darlin.” 

Indrid crawls backwards, shocked. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.” Duck grins at the double meaning.

“This isn’t possible, I’m losing my mind.”

“Ain’t possible? Indrid, you’re a mothman, one of our friends was literally a god-planet for awhile, and we know at least one other ghost. Don’t seem all that strange that I could be a ghost too.”

“I, I suppose you’re right.” 

Duck smiles at him patiently, “You ain’t convinced, are you?”

Indrid shakes his head, “I saw it as a future but wrote it off as wishful thinking. Also, you look like you did when we first met. Which suggests this is my mind playing a trick rather than you truly being here.”

Duck shrugs, “Can’t say why I look like this. Just that after it all went quiet I was kinda in this, I dunno, in-betweenish space. And I knew if I went one way I could just keep bein still and peaceful. If I went the other, I’d come back here. To you. Wasn’t sure what that entailed, but it felt like the right choice.”

He’s got that look on his face, the reassuring one he had whenever Indrid got caught up in worrisome visions. Indrid’s certain his face looks as confused as he feels. 

“I’m, I’m sorry, I know I should be overjoyed but it’s so, I haven’t even accepted, and now-”

“Ain’t gotta apologize.” Duck reaches out. This time, when his hand makes contact with Indrids wing, he feels the touch as fully as he ever did. 

His body moves on muscle memory, embracing Duck.

He only succeeds in hugging himself, arms passing through the figure before him.

“That’s, that’s not _fair_. You can touch me but I, I’ll never get to hold you again, all I wanted was just, for one last time-” His words cut off into a heartbroken chirr, antenna limp and face buried in his hands.

“Oh darlin no, hey, don’t cry. Or, uh, cry if you need to but not about that.” Duck is trying to take his hands, though he keeps slipping through them.

“Damn ghost-magic-shit, work with me here.” Duck mutters and it’s so utterly normal, so like his husband to grumble at an unhelpful tool that Indrid laughs, tears still streaming down his face.

“There’s that smile. Thought I’d never see it again.” Duck manages to materialize his hands strongly enough to brush Indrids cheek, “see, far as I can tell, the longer I hang around the better I get at doin this” this time a hand closes around his, “took me two damn days to get good enough for you to see me. And I only just now figured out how to touch you so that you’d feel it. Think bein able to be touched for any amount of time might take a hell of a lot more practice.”

“You mean you’re staying?” Indrid dares to let soft hope creep into his voice.

Duck nods. 

“For how long?”

“Ain’t sure. I don’t seem able to get back into that inbetween space, so I guess I’m here for awhile. That okay with you?” The frown is one of genuine worry, as if he’s afraid he overstepped. 

“Okay? Duck it’s, it’s the best thing I could ever imagine. I thought I’d I never see you again, let alone have you beside me once more.” The words are choked with joy.

Duck manages to hold his hand long enough to help him up, though his husband floats rather than stands next to him.

“You know, Sylvain has all sorts of information on ghostly matters, and Earth has quite a bit as well. I’m certain we can find ways for you to materialize more, and see if you can move locations, and-”

“Tomorrow, darlin. We can start on that all tomorrow if you want, but right now you look like you’re about to pass out.”

The full weight of Indrids exhaustion settles on him. 

“When did you last sleep?”

“The night before the funeral. With the help of a sleep spell from Aubrey.”

“Right, you’re gettin in bed pronto.” 

And then he disappears. Indrid chirrs, alarmed.

“Don’t fret darlin, still here, guess I need to recharge a bit before I can be visible again.” Ducks voice answers from nearby, and a moment later the bed covers flip open on Indrids side, the mattress patted by an invisible hand.

He sits down and his glasses float towards him.

“You wanna sleep with these, or all mothed-out?”

It might be easier to feel Duck if he’s not covered in fluff. He takes the glasses, slips them on. Slides under the sheets, trying to track Duck by the slight chill that moves through the air. Soon he’s on his side, staring at Ducks spot on the bed, and quite certain Duck is looking back at him. 

“I don’t want to sleep.” He whispers, “What if I wake up and you’re gone again. I’m quite certain I could not handle that.”

“Well, magic eight ball, what do you see when you look at tomorrow?” 

He focuses on the chain of futures for the next day. There is not a single one in which a ghostly Duck isn’t floating about their house. 

“Hush, now, darlin, no more cryin tonight.” A finger he can’t see wipes tears from his cheeks. 

“I’d like the record to state those were tears of joy this time.” He yawns, hears a faint chuckle. 

“Goodnight, Indrid.”

“Goodnight, my love.”

He falls half-asleep quickly, tosses and turns as he always does when visions clamor for his attention. Then, sometime during the night, strong, loving, arms close around him, and he sleeps straight until dawn.


	4. Panic Attack in Aisle Five (OT4 of Indruck/Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 14th was: Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the OT4 verse (everyone is boyfriends, except for Duck and Barclay, who are metamours). For some context, in “Have you found what you’re looking for” it’s implied that Stern hasn’t had many close connections with people for years, in part due to his work. That means he sometimes struggles believing he’s worthy of care.

Damn that Halloween decoration. 

Stern sits in the diner booth, absentmindedly sipping his water as his heart rate climbs like he’s running a marathon rather than out to lunch with his boyfriends. 

It had all been going so well, too. 

———————-

It had been Barclays idea for them all to go into the nearest city to hunt down a Halloween superstore. He needed decorations for the lodge, and Duck wanted to get some new lights for the apartment (“rats ate the ones I had before”).

And so they decided to make a day of it. It had been awhile since he’d been in one place long enough to decorate for a holiday, and Stern is truly excited. 

He and Barclay start out in the lights section, trying to figure out what won’t overload the lodges circuits or get tangled around Jake when he inevitably tries to stunt. Behind him, he hears Duck repeatedly trying to jumpscare Indrid, with limited success (“ah!” “‘Drid, you if you scream before I jump out it ain’t the same”).

“Hey look, Indrid, it’s you” Barclay holds up a strand of black-winged figures with red eyes.

“I think those are meant to be bats.” Stern peers at the lights.

“Really?” Barclay looks at them again.

“Either way, they’re comin with me.” Duck grabs a box. 

“We are not putting those up.” Indrid says from his spot examining glow-in-the-dark cobwebs

“Not outside we ain’t. Goin in the bedroom because it’s your lair” Duck bounces his eyebrows and the others laugh (Indrid rolling his eyes as he does).

It’s when he’s off by himself, looking for pumpkin carving kits so Barclays kitchen knives don’t get trashed, that it happens. He rounds a corner in the animatronics section and stops in his tracks.

Someone has recreated a scene from “An American Werewolf in London” with an unfortunate victims guts strewn across the floor. On one level, he’s impressed with the effects.

On another level, he feels like his guts will shortly be joining them on the ground.

_A forest, his third mission, blood on pine needles._

It’s like the world gets harder to focus on.

_Another agent, viscera, grizzly bear._

He forces himself to move through the aisles, to gather up the carving kits and bring them back.

_A fluke, a rare animal attack, unlucky, could have been him, so much red_

Duck is doubled over laughing at the “sexy bigfoot” costume they’ve discovered, Indrid cackling along with him and Barclay looking affronted. 

Sounds stay hollow as they pay, and he’s wishing more and more that he could go home and hide, even though he’s not really sure where home is. 

“Got you a present” Barclay murmurs as he loops an arm around his shoulders. Stern just manages not to jump at the contact, offers a tight smile and a nod. Barclay gives him that gentle, worried frown of his. 

He keeps giving him that look every now and then as they wander through the downtown and find a place to eat. Stern is ready to snap, to say that he’s fine, that he’ll be fine, he’s been fine every time this has happened before. 

“Babe?” Barclay rests a hand on his knee carefully, “what’s wrong, you seem upset.” 

The words won’t come, and that makes the feeling worse, because surely they’ll get annoyed with him for being uncommunicative- 

“Joseph” Indrid says quietly, “am I correct that you’re close to a panic attack?” 

Stern nods. 

“Love, please order for me. Barclay, I believe you can order for Joseph this time around.” Indrid taps Duck so that the ranger stands up, allowing the seer to slide from the opposite booth. Wordlessly, Stern follows him outside, Indrid somehow managing to find a secluded spot near a fountain. 

“There, no prying eyes.” He removes his glasses. 

"What are you doing?” Stern hisses. This is, so far, the opposite of helpful. 

“I promise there are no futures where I’m seen.” He opens his arms, cocks his head. “Yes?” 

Stern steps into his embrace immediately. Indrids wings enfold him, blocking out much of the autumn light. 

“I can’t, I didn’t, I’m sorry-” 

“Shhhhhh” Indrid strokes his hair, “do not focus on trying to make me understand. All that matters right now is helping you weather this. Can you indicate what you need?” 

“Something to ground me, something to remind me I’m here and not there." 

A slow, even purr vibrates through the dark feathers, Indrid managing to (somewhat awkwardly) speak at the same time, “Focus on the sound, my pet.” 

It’s the first time Indrid’s used that word outside of the bedroom. It sounds completely different, all trace of possessiveness gone. 

Stern tries, he truly does, to focus only on the purring, but still he feels like he’s floating away from himself. 

“In this moment, here, what do you see?” Indrid asks softly. 

“Feathers, mostly. I can see the cement too.” 

“What do you hear?” 

"You, purring. And,” he breathes in, then out, concentrating, “some birds. The fountain.” 

“Smell?” 

Another deep breath, the world is becoming clearer “That sterile watery smell, something fruity-” 

“-We’re near a Jamba Juice, a fine establishment” 

“And soap, Ducks soap. Wait, that's his shirt you're wearing on your human form, isn’t it?” 

“Technically, yes. You’re doing very well, Joseph. Two more to go. What do you feel?” 

“Your feathers, how the ones around your neck” he glides a hand over them “are fluffier while the ones on your wings are smooth.” 

“Lastly, oh, ah, one moment.” He puts his glasses back on quickly, right before footsteps pass by them, “what do you taste?” 

Stern leans in, kisses him, “you.” 

Indrid cups his chin, long fingers stroking his cheek, “Did that help?” 

“Immensely. Thank you, Indrid.” 

The Sylph simply smiles. 

Their food arrives right after they get back to the restaurant. Stern braces himself to be fussed at, but just Duck grins, relieved, at both of them and Barclay takes Sterns hand as he continues telling a story about a souffle incident at work. 

Carefully, Stern rests his head on Barclays shoulder, his boyfriend pausing his tale of kitchen chaos to kiss him on the temple 

It’s not until they’re back in the car, Duck driving with Indrid in the passenger seat while Stern and Barclay cuddle in the back, that Barclay grabs one of the bags and hands it to him. 

“Saw these and, uh, know they’re supposed to be a novelty thing but I knew I had to get ‘em for you.” 

“Are these…UFO bedsheets?” 

_“Yep. They even glow in the dark.”_

“Somehow I doubt these are standard Amnesty Lodge bedding” he teases. 

“You got me there, agent. But you aren’t a standard guest anymore either. Far as I, or honestly anyone else is concerned, lodge is your home. You get to do that room up however you want.” 

_“They’re wonderful, Barclay. Thank you.” He nestles against the larger man._

“How you doing?” Barclay asks gently. 

“Much better. I’m sorry for worrying you. There are things from my past that don’t always stay there. I, I don’t think I’m ready to say more than that.” 

“Say as much or as little as you need to, babe. I love you. So do those two weirdos. And I’m here for you no matter what.” 

Stern nods, kisses Barclay once and shuts his eyes. Reminds himself that things will come out okay in the end. In the driver seat, Duck flicks on the blinker and turns them in the direction of home. 


	5. Kitchen Nightmare (Many Pairings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 25th was: sabotage.

“Alright” Mama stands, hands on hips, surveying the pairs lined up in front of her “here’s the rules: y’all got two hours to make us dessert. And whichever one we like best, that team don’t got to help with clean-up from big fall dinner next week. Any questions? Aubrey?”

“How come Ned doesn’t have to compete?”

“Because, friend Aubrey, gentlemen of mine and Thacker’s ages are in no condition to do such difficult labor.”

“Ned, you fuckin crashed a jetpack once. Cleanin up would be a piece of cake.”

“To be fair” Barclay says, “you haven’t seen what dishes look like that day.”

“And I banned Arlo from the kitchen ten years ago on account of the gorp incident.” Mama holds up a whistle, while Juno readies a stopwatch. 

“On you marks, get set, go!”

————————————————————

“Alright ‘Drid, what should we make?”

“Hmmm, oh! I rather enjoy Jell-O, can we make that?”

“No, goofus, I meant what gives us the best chances of winnin?”

“I can’t tell just yet, as the others have not decided on their dishes, so the futures are all in flux. And I don’t want to lose precious time by waiting on them.”

“Good point.” Duck taps his chin, snaps his fingers, “got it, Juno’s got a weak spot for pumpkin cream cheese brownies, used to eat half a pan of them herself whenever my mom made a batch.”

“Brownies it is. Do I get to lick the spoon?”

“Of course, sugar.”

——————————————————

“Why are you even competing, aren’t you doing most of the cooking that day?”

“Yeah, but assuming because I cook everyone else will do the dishes has backfired, big time, before.” Barclay shudders, then smiles “plus, didn’t want to leave you without a partner, agent.”

“What are we making?”

“Pumpkin doughnuts. Mama loves ‘em and…is that a X-files patterned apron?”

“Yes. I bought one because I wanted to help you in the kitchen.”

“You’re such a nerd, I love it, now hand me that mixing bowl.”

—————————————

“Okay, so, we’re making bee-sting pudding.” Hollis cracks their knuckles as they stare at the spice rack.

“Do you, like, need me to go round up some bees?”

“No, Jake, I need you to grab some honey and some whiskey.”

“Can do!”

“…..Did you just heely over to get that?”

—————————————–

“What is our battle plan, Leo Tarkesian? For I wish to be victorious, and also to charm Madeleine Cobb!”

“Uh, my ma used to make these real nice pumpkin cookies. Was thinkin we make some fillin to go in ‘em and make us some whoopie pies. Y’know, do ‘em up fancy-like.”

“Very well. We shall make whoopie!”

“Pies, Minerva, whoopie _pies_”

“It is not sporting to eavesdrop, Wayne Newton.”

—————————————–

“We could make cookies? Oh! What if we did them in the shape of Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

“I think we lost our rabbit cookie-cutter in the blender incident, firebug.”

“Damn it.”

“We could make cupcakes. Barclay taught me his basic recipe, and I can modify it a little to be fall-ish.”

“You’re so smart.” Aubrey kisses her nose, “okay, you bake, I’ll decorate.”

Dani starts mixing ingredients together, while Aubrey takes stock of the sprinkle situation. As she’s doing so, she spots Hollis whisking something over the stove while Jake hands them ingredients. Whatever it is smells delicious, so good that she wants to lick the air. 

Hmm, that’s not great in terms of their odds. 

With practiced sleight of hand, the sugar at the Hornet station becomes salt. Jake will forgive her for the prank. He loves pranks.

Two minutes later, she hears Hollis make a “bleh” sound.

“What the fuck, this is salt!? I know I got sugar out.”

Her giggle gives her away.

“Aw, what the heck bro!”

“All’s fair in love, war, and dish-duty avoidance, Jake.”

“That so?” Hollis cocks an eyebrow, and it distracts Aubrey from the handful of flour that Jake launches her way. 

She shrieks out a laugh, shakes the powder from her hair and flicks a cloud of it towards him with spell. 

Unfortunately, said spell goes a bit wide and hits Indrid, coating his glasses. 

“Oh, bother.” He reaches for them.

“‘Drid wait you’re right by-”

_Clang_

“Ooops, sorry Barclay, I didn’t mean to knock your bowl over.”

“Uh huh, sure.” Barclay smirks, eyeing first their brownie mix and then the nearby jar of chili powder.

“Don’t you dare.” Red eyes narrow. 

“Wayne Newton, your consorts’ wing is getting feathers in our batter!”

“Minerva, for fuck’s sake, you can call me Duck.”

“Duck!”

“That’s betterACKfuck.” Duck splutters, spots the culprit in the form of Leo holding a formerly full bag of powdered sugar. 

“That was a dirty trick old man!” 

“What’re you gonna do about it?” 

“Gonna make sure you get flour where the sun don’t shine.” He dives after an escaping Leo, leaving their station unattended. Barclay steps over and calmly dumps most of the chili powder into it their bowl. Turns back to his station, only to find Indrid holding his and Sterns batter out of the agents reach. 

With a wide grin, Indrid unfurls his tongue.

“Don’t even think about it.” Barclay growls. Indrid locks eyes with him as he jams his tongue into the bowl and repeatedly licks the mixture.

“Gah, that’s so unsanitary!” Stern yells. Barclay takes off his bracelet, and as soon as he’s in his Sylph form Indrid drops the bowl and tries to run.

“Oh no you don’t, not letting you get moth cooties on more of my ingredients!”

Indrid chirrs in amusement, flapping his wings to keep Barclay at bay and sending up a cloud of dry ingredients. It settles just in time for Stern to see Jake trying to steal their remaining yeast. So he grabs the sprayer nozzle from the nearby sink and points it at the younger man.

“C’mon bro” Jake takes off his disguise, “you couldn’t possibly hurt this face.”

Stern sprays him, covers his mouth with his hand to laugh as Jake shakes the water from his fur and poofs up. 

Jake shrugs, “your loss dude.”

“What do you mean my- Hollis get back here with that dough! The kitchen is no place for stunts!”

“Fight the power!”

————————————-

“Duck, Indrid, you’re up first.” 

Indrid sets the plates down with a triumphant flourish. Juno’s face lights up.

“Oh hell yeah, Mama Newtons brownie recipe.”

She takes an enormous bite. The frantically grabs for her water.

“Blegh, Duck, why are they so spicy?”

“There was an incident with some spices and we did not have time to make new batter.” 

“That got anythin to do with why Duck is covered in powdered sugar.”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Well, nice try fellas and- Indrid would you stop lickin him-I can see what you were goin for, but let’s see what Hollis and Jake did.”

As Jake sets out the bowls, Hollis says, “we made bee-sting pudding, with bourbon whipped cream on top.”

“Why friend Hollis, that’s a remarkably refined dish, bravo.” Ned eyes his pudding happily.

“Thanks. I think. Anyway.” They point to the bowls. All four judges take a bite, and proceed to make rather comical faces.

“Hollis, is it supposed to be this salty?” Thacker rubs his tongue with a napkin.

“No.”

“Oh, uh, I see.”

Minerva and Leo are up next, with the warrior taking extra care when setting Mama’s plate in front of her. 

“Leo?”

“Yeah, Juno?”

“Please tell me the black feathers are made of chocolate or something?” She eyes the whoopie pie worriedly while Mama picks feathers off of hers.

“Can I get away with sayin their garnish?”

Thacker, Ned, and Juno all push their plates back. Mama takes a small bite, “I mean, the parts that don’t got feathers in ‘em are good, but that ain’t all that much of ‘em. Good try.” This she directs at Minerva with an odd little smile. 

“Barclay, whadaya got?”

“Nothing.” The cook grumbles. 

“We lost one batch of dough to, ah, contamination, and the other to some ‘stunts.’”

“O-kay. Aubrey, Dani?”

“Tadah!” Aubrey sets a plate of cupcakes down, all frosted in bright orange with black, glittery sprinkles. 

Ned nibbles one rather daintily to keep frosting out of his beard (Thacker makes no such attempt), Juno takes one bite and moans, and Mama downs hers and says, “thank fuck.”

“Gonna go ahead and say it;s unanimous. Aubrey and Dani, you win.”

“Woohoo!” Aubrey shouts, then dips Dani in a celebratory kiss. 

“Wait, hang on a second, they’re the ones who started the whole mess back there.” Duck protests. 

Mama regards the pair, who don matching sheepish expressions, “That so? Well, they still win this, so they ain’t cleanin up from dinner next week.”

The others groan.

“They are, however, cleanin up from whatever the hell went on back there today.”


	6. Monsters (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for the 28th was: "are you afraid yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: this fic contains allusions to societal homophobia

“Are you afraid yet?” The councilman, white rose pin shining bright on his chest, looks down at Duck as a guard finishes chaining him to the post. 

“Nope. And I ain’t gonna be, so fuck off.”

“Is that how you speak to your elders?” Another councilmen chimes in.

“When they’re feedin me to a fuckin monster? YES!”

Both men sniff, tartly, and retire to their viewing spot. The guard rings a chime three times. All attention turns to the cave entrance a mere few yards from where Duck is tied. 

The monster doesn’t appear right away. This makes it worse, gives him time to think of what’s coming. 

To remember how he got here.

It began at the spring festival, two weeks ago. The young man with the silver hair, who smiled at Duck so sweetly and so strangely when he bought food from their stand. Who’d leaned against the side of it, talking animatedly to Duck once Duck indicated that he wouldn’t mind the company.

At the end of that day, he’d told him his name was Indrid.

He was back the next day, and asked if Duck would go with him to the evening portion, because he was only passing through town and was unsure of the customs for the dance. Which is how they ended up dancing together.

(Not for every dance, no matter how much Duck longed to do so, as dancing only with another man would have drawn unwanted attention).

On the third day, as the sun set, Duck kissed him beneath an apple tree. Or, perhaps, he kissed Duck. It was so mutual an action it was hard to say who began it. Indrid tasted like honey, and the eyes he kept hidden behind red glasses were a deep, reddish brown when Duck slid the spectacles up his forehead.

The fifth day, it all went wrong. He’d been so careful, chosen a seldom used barn and hurried Indrid up into the loft, away from prying eyes. But they’d barely begun, he’d barely gotten to touch the cool skin beneath Indrid’s shirt when there were voices outside. 

They weren’t fast enough. There was no way the trio of villagers who stood, gazing up at them with grim satisfaction, could mistake their half-clothed states for having any purpose other than what it did.

“Go.” He’d stepped between Indrid and the men coming up the ladder. 

“But you shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

“I ain’t lettin them hurt you too. Now for fucks sake, run.”

Indrid disappeared out the window. Duck made damn sure he wasn’t followed. 

In retrospect, it may have been that last action that was the nail in his coffin. When sacrifices are identified, they aren’t always given up right away. Indeed, certain children of the towns richer members have been identified but never offered up.

Breaking the nose of one White Rose member and biting another on the arm ensured Duck jumped to the head of the line. The verdict was swift: he’d been caught in an act of deviance, therefore he would be food for the monster, insuring the purer, more moral citizens of Kepler would not have to be offered in his place. 

Running was no option. If he escaped, it was understood a family member would take his place. Besides, where would he go? His friend Juno was still in Kepler, but would be punished if she helped him. One of his few friends in another village was sacrificed a month ago (for each town in this region must reckon with the monsters in the mountains). Another, from Kepler, ran away two months prior with her girlfriend, a woman with golden hair and eyes, before they could be caught in a compromising position. 

A strange, trilling noise echos out of the cave, snapping him back into the present. Soon, two red, glowing eyes appear. Then the creature steps into the sunlight.

His resolve to show no fear wavers.

It must be seven feet tall, with dark, speckled wings and feathers coating its body. Antennae sprout from its head, and each of it’s four arms end in clawed hands. 

It makes its way to him, odd high noises still skittering out of it. He forces his face to stay neutral, forces his eyes to stay open even when the creature kneels before him. It cocks its head, opens a mouth with far too many teeth and draws its tongue in the air by Ducks cheek. Then it growls, tears the chains as if they were nothing, and picks him up, holding him to its chest. Slowly it stands, and as it does its wings envelope him, blocking out the rest of the world. 

At a leisurely pace, it walks back towards the cave. Behind them, he hears one elder say to another, “I wonder if we shall hear it happen? The last sacrifice in Victorville, there was screaming before the spectators finished loading their carriages.”

Duck sucks in a shaky breath; the man they’re talking about was his friend. Was it so painful for him? Will it be that bad for Duck?

He allows himself a some tears, then. For his friend, for himself.

At the sound of his sniffles the creature pauses. A screech fills the air, though it's directed at the viewers, not at him and he smiles bitterly as he hears them all scrambling away in fear. 

The creatures quickens it’s movements and the air becomes damp, cool. Once they’re in the cave, the growl changes to a softer sound, and if Duck didn’t know better he’d swear the two hands stroking his back and hair were trying to comfort him. 

After far to short a time, there’s a deep scraping of stone and the creature takes a few more steps before lowering him to the ground. The scraping returns and the wings leave his view just in time for him to see a stone door sliding shut, plunging the room into darkness. 

The creature moves about, tapping two crystals which proceed to glow as brightly as any fire. Duck looks around, finds himself in a huge nest of pillows and soft, warm fabrics. There’s no sign of blood or bones or other remnants of the humans who came before him. 

The creature kneels in front of him again, leaning forward. It doesn’t look bloodthirsty or angry. It mostly looks sorry for him.

“Wait.”

The creature waits.

“I, uh, you don’t need to eat me. Or, uh, maybe you do cause you don’t got other food but, uh, but I’m sure we could work somethin out.”

It smiles, cocks it head.

“Please.” He whispers, “I ain’t done anythin wrong. Except punchin that White Rose.”

“Given that he’s had a hand in goodness knows how many people’s unhappiness, I do wish I’d been able to see that.” The monster speaks and the surprise of it sends him crawling backwards. 

“Oh, oh dear, I’m sorry. I’m afraid in my excitement at having you here I didn’t keep an eye on your possible reactions.”

“Excitement? You’re fuckin _excited_ to kill me?”

“That isn’t what I said.” The creature stands, pads over to large desk, “is it?” He picks up an object, holding it out so Duck can see.

Red glasses. 

“N-no, how did you get him? I though he got away.” Ducks voice cracks and tears threaten the corners of his eyes.

“Never fear, I did not get him” it puts the glasses on and reality bends, “I am him.”

Duck stares at the man before him. Then he stares some more. 

“How in the everlovin fuck?”

Indrid grins, “I will explain everything shortly, but first, may I approach you?”

Duck nods and Indrid crawls into the nest with him. As soon as he’s within reach, Duck is in his arms. Indrid chirps, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and guides it gently along Ducks cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry that I frightened you. Unfortunately, I had to play up being a monster to maintain the ruse. If we seem too gentle, they get suspicious. Though, half those sounds I made were actually happy ones, not that they would know that.”

“Where did you bring me?”

“My home, in several senses of the word. This room and the adjoining chambers are my literal house. They are part of the kingdom of Sylvain, which thrives here in these mountains, and which is my home.”

“But, other villages, their monsters-”

“Look different? That us because we children of Sylvain come in many forms, some of which are more alarming to humans than others. But no matter how frightening we look, we don’t mean you any harm.”

“Now” Indrid holds his hands, nuzzles his forehead, “I have some things to retrieve for you, as I foresee you getting hungry very soon. I can see the future, since you’re about to ask how I knew that. You’re welcome to come with me, but you can also stay here if you wish to-ah, never mind, all the futures where you wanted to stay here just vanished”

“Sorry, thought about it and I don’t wanna be alone right now.” He doesn’t want Indrid out of his sight, doesn’t want it to turn out to be some trick of the cave, some fevered dream.

Indrid stands, pulling Duck up with him, “As you wish. Now, since you’re about to ask again: no, never in the history of Sylvain has one of the humans sacrificed to us actually been eaten.”

“Then how come we keep givin them?” He takes Indrid’s hand as they step back into the tunnels. Stones in the wall light up as they walk, and various halls are lit with torches for added brightness.

“Long ago, the first humans who settled the land outside our mountains got along fairly well with us. Or at the very least understood that we were neighbors, not a threat, and we moved between each others towns easily. But then, those humans were forced out by the humans who founded towns like Kepler. When a Sylph ambassador went to the nearest village, there was a great uproar and no small amount of miscommunication. The ambassador was inviting the humans to a meal, in a gesture of good faith. The humans thought-”

“You wanted to eat ‘em.”

“Precisely. You can imagine, then, the confusion of the Sylph who stepped out of their door to find a panicked, tearful human waiting for them. Now, tell me, what would you do if you opened your door and found someone who was in distress there?”

“Bring ‘em into the house and see if I could help ‘em.”

“And that’s just what that Sylph did. After a great deal of tears on the humans part, she was able to communicate that she had been chosen as sacrifice because she was with child outside the bonds of marriage. Unsurprisingly, when her host asked if she wanted to go home and explain the error, she said ‘not even if you did want to eat me would I go back to that fuckin place.’”

“Were you there?”

“No, but the records are quite clear on her phrasing. The Sylphs met the next day to discuss what to do, but before their meeting adjourned, three more people had been ‘sacrificed.’ It didn’t take us long to notice a pattern: towns sent those who they deemed deviant, those they deemed inconvenient. And so we kept gathering those poor offerings up, bringing them into Sylvain so they might find a new home. Over time, we started scouting, looking for those who were likely targets, as we’d learned from previous humans that their lives were often unpleasant well before the sacrifice if they were deemed outsiders. When I came of age, I used my foresight to help identify them. And, well, in the last few years, as Sylphs were scouting, more and more came to fall in love with the humans they knew would be sacrificed. And so, many took the chance to woo those humans before hand, or strike up friendships. That way, they’d have a familiar face when they arrived. In some cases, the courtship accidentally lead to those humans being sacrificed sooner.”

Up ahead, Duck can see daylight.

“What if they didn’t want to stay here?”

“Then we helped them find a new place to live, in other towns farther away, ones where they wouldn’t have to fear because of who they loved or how they were. Plenty chose that, plenty chose to remain here.”

As they step out of the mouth of the cave, Duck blinks in the warm sunshine. They’re in a massive meadow, dotted with a spring, several ponds, and a handful of stores.

“Sylvain is only mountains on her outer edges.” Indrid smiles at the awe on Ducks face, then turns them towards one stall, painted in a checkered pattern. As they get closer, Duck can see it’s a restaurant, with wooden picnic tables out front.

A figure steps out the door carrying trays, sets them down before a mixture of Sylphs and humans. He waves.

“Hey Indrid, running a little behind since we’ve been busy, but don’t worry, I’ll have things ready soon.” In spite of being two feet taller than Duck and looking like a cross between a man and some other form of ape, gentleness radiates from him. He extends a large, furry hand Ducks way, “I’m Barclay. Nice to meet you, Indrid hasn’t shut up about you for the last week.”

“That so?” Duck smirks at the other man, who turns bright pink. 

The door to the shop creaks open once more as Barclay continues, “how are you holding up? Know that sacrifice shit is real scary on your end. I felt so bad about how upset my human was, I set a new record for how many times I apologized during the trip from the sacrificial spot to my home. Isn’t that right, Joe?”

“I maintain you could have warned me ahead of time. But I forgive you all the same.” Says a calm, friendly voice. 

Duck knows that voice. He peers around Barclay, finds a familiar face smiling at him as Joe Stern wipes his hands on his apron. 

“Hello, Duck.”

Duck clears the few feet between them easily, gathers his friend into a hug.

“You got any idea how fuckin happy I am to see you?”

“Likewise.” Stern lets go of him ,looks him up and down, “I heard you broke a White Roses nose. Good for you.” 

“Thanks. Uh, there’s just one thing that’s confusin me. Well, there’s a lotta things confusin me right now but this is the one that applies to you. I heard the elders talkin about how when you got carried off, they heard screamin even before the folks watchin headed home.”

Now it’s Sterns turn to go red, “Yes, ah, well, you see, Barclay didn’t make it very far before telling me what was going on. And, as you can imagine, the relief of knowing I wasn’t going to die coupled with the joy of seeing him again lead me to ask for a certain form of celebration. Right then and there.”

Duck blinks for a moment, then bursts out laughing, “figures a fuckin White Rose couldn’t tell the difference between someone bein killed and someone gettin their brains fucked out.”

Stern is laughing now too, “It wasn’t even my screaming.”

A high, chirping laugh joins them and Duck turns to see Indrid with his hands over his face, laughing at a mortified Barclay.

“What, he knows how to get me going?”

Stern giggles one last time, then nods over Ducks shoulder as a new group enters the tables, “I need to help with the dinner rush, but I promise we can catch up tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.” He waves as his friend disappears inside. 

“Duck you may wish you brace yourself.”

“For wha-ahhhck!” 

He’s knocked to the ground by a figure yelling, “you’re heeeeere!”

“Aubrey?”

The young woman smiles down at him, freckled nose crinkling from the force of her grin.

“Yep” She lets him sit up before crushing him in another hug.

“Hi, Duck.” Dani leans against a nearby table, waving. Her golden hair is up in a knot, and she looks comfortably grass-stained. 

“I almost told Indrid he had to tell you what was coming, because I was so worried that you’d be scared.” Aubrey says, still not letting go, “but he pointed out that you can’t lie to save your life, and that you might give him and us away.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Dani told me about the whole set-up way ahead of time. And I was like, ‘fuck that, I’m not gonna let those jerks get any kind of satisfaction out of sacrificing me, even if it is just sending me back to my super hot girlfriend. So I was like, ‘let’s elope’ and she said yes.”

Dani shrugs, “She’s very persuasive.” 

“And! Something about being in Sylvain makes Dr Harris Bonkers able to walk on two legs and talk to me. Kind of.”

“That’s…good? I mean, you seem real happy about it.”

“IT’S SO COOL!”

He listens happily as Aubrey tells him all about their home, their gardens, moving from the ground to one of the tables as they chat. Eventually, she has to leave to prepare for some magic lessons, but not before making Duck promise to come by tomorrow so she can show him more of the kingdom. 

He watches her and Dani walk off towards one set of tunnels, turns back to find Indrid now sitting across from him. 

“I ordered dinner, since Barclay won’t be finished with the basket just yet, and it’s turning into a lovely evening.” He gazes up at the stars with a sigh.

“Sorry, I been talkin to my friends this whole time and-”

“Duck, are you trying to apologize for spending time with loved ones you thought you’d never see again?”

“…Well, when you put it like that it sounds silly. Sorry, don’t know why I’m apologizin so much.”

“It’s alright.” Indrid rests his hand lightly on Ducks own, “You’ve just been through what was, as far as your mind and body are concerned, a near death situation. It’s not strange to be rattled. “

“Thanks. Uh, Indrid, can I ask you somethin?”

The Sylph nods.

“Barclay called Stern ‘his’ human. If, if a Sylph rescues a human does that mean they-”

“Belong to them? Oh goodness, no. It’s a language issue. In Sylph, the phrasing conveys that they were that humans’ first contact with Sylvain. But it comes out odd in English. Oh, thank you.” He smiles as Stern sets two plates down; soup for Duck, and a pile of fruit for Indrid.

“Do you mind if I take off my glasses to eat?”

Duck, mouth already full, shakes his head. They eat in contented silence for a bit before Duck asks, “have any humans ever tried to come rescue their friends?”

“Two instances, both recent.” Indrid pops a strawberry into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, “I suppose more don’t because so often those offered at outcasts. And, many people are rather cowardly. The first one to try it was Mama.” He points off to his left, to a human woman who is leaning against a tree, carving something Duck can’t quite make out from wood.

“Her friend Thacker was offered. He was brought in and she came shortly after, well armed and quite willing to fight whatever she had to in order to help him. She had to meet several other humans before she was convinced it wasn’t a trick. Then she decided to stay herself, and handle security in case of other humans with less-kind motives.”

“And the other exception?’

“Hollis.” He points to a young person in a yellow and black shirt, “They were taken by Jake, but he only got halfway to here before he was followed by their entire band of riders, the Hornets.. I’m not sure who was more confused; Jake by the sudden swarm of angry Hornets, or Hollis at the fact that their monster was…less than monstrous.” He points to a pool where Hollis is dangling their feet. A seal flops up beside them, then turns into a young man with a seal-pelt around his neck. Duck has several questions about how that particular sacrifice looked, but saves them for later.

“The hornets, Hollis included, now come and go, helping with security. They also help us if I identify a town that plans on…mistreating a sacrifice prior to the ceremony. They go and insure no such thing occurs.”

Duck finishes his meal as Indrid licks his plate. When the Sylph reaches for his glasses, Duck stops him.

“You, uh, you don’t gotta put those on if you don’t want.”

Indrid cocks his head, a gesture Duck is rapidly growing fond of, “You’re sure?”

Duck clears his throat, “kinda enjoyin getting to look at you like this too. Not that your human face ain’t charmin.”

Indrid chirrs shyly.

“All set.” Barclay places a large basket down in front of them. They say their goodnights, and head back to the entrance from whence they came.

“Oh, wait.” Indrid pauses, “Let me show you how to navigate, since the cavern networks can be confusing to new arrivals. All you do is touch the wall and name where you’d like to go. Here, you try.” He guides Ducks hand up in his lower right one, resting it on the stone. 

“Indrids room.”

The outline of his hand glows deep green, and as he steps back it slides up, forming a circle. As they step into the cave, the light stays just ahead of them, guiding them through the twists and turns. When they arrive at a specific door, it vanishes. 

Indrid touches the wall, and it slides open to reveal his room.

“What’d Barclay give you?”

“I’ll show you in a moment. Make yourself comfortable, I just need to grab a few things from my bedroom.”

Duck nestles back into the same mound of pillows, examines the contents of a shelf. Various terrariums hold plants, glowing green in faint shimmers and bursts. 

“Here we are.” Indrid settles across from him, presenting him with the basket. 

Opening it, surprise wells up inside him. There are several packages of sweets he knows only come from Kepler, along with his favorite pastries, still warm from Barclays oven. There are books as well, the ones he’s read time and again and could read a hundred times more. Surrounding all the smaller items are a few pieces of clothing, and just by looking at them he knows they’ll fit.

When he looks, wide-eyed, at Indrid. The Sylph has both sets of hands clasped together in excitement. 

“Indrid this, this is amazin.”

“Is it? Oh I’m so glad you liked it.” Indrid chirps, claps his hands, “It’s a tradition. When I foresee a new human being sacrificed, the scouts and I piece together what things that person might want in their first days here. As I said, thinking one is going to die, even if one survives, can create a great deal of stress and emotion. We found humans had a better time if we had familiar things here to comfort them.”

“Hold up, this is my jacket. As in, the jacket they took from me when they threw me in jail.”

Indrids antennae relax a little, and he clicks his top set of claws together, “ah, yes. You liked it so much, and you looked so handsome in it that I had one of the hornets procure it for you.”

Duck beams at him, continues sorting through the box, munching on a cheese roll as he does. Indrid gives him space, putters about his cave, occasionally pausing to draw at his desk. 

The exhaustion comes in one great wave, pushing Duck down. He yawns, shakes his head to clear the drowsiness from it.

“The bedroom is through there, if you need to sleep.”

Duck stands, with no small amount of effort, and waits for Indrid to do the same.

“Is everything alright?”

“I was, uh, assumin you’d be joinin me. Since you rescued me and all.”

Indrid stands, crosses to him. One set of hands cups his face, the other takes his own, “Duck, my actions today, the opening of my house to you, the gifts, those were all done because they are the right thing to do. They do not bind you to me in any way. You owe me nothing.”

“But you were pretty clearly courtin me before.”

“I was. And I would like to continue doing so. But if you wish to only be friends, we shall do that. If you wish to find somewhere else to stay, I will gladly help.”

“You’d let me go just like that?” Duck raises an eyebrow.

Indrid hesitates, then says softly, “I cannot say it would be easy for me. I am very fond of you, I love talking with you, and you are a very good kisser. But I only want you to stay, and to let me woo you, if that’s what you truly, freely desire as well.”

He wants to say yes, but a part of him nags that it’s too soon to know. That he ought to give it more thought.

“Lemme sleep on it?”

“Of course. The main bed is yours, I shall be quite comfortable out here.”

The main bed is a slightly neater looking version of the nest out front. He readies himself for bed, finds Indrid also got him pajamas, deep green and very warm.

He tries to sleep, but it’s fitful. He gets flashes of nightmares, spikes of panic in his chest. He tries to think only of pleasant things: Indrid, laughing the day they met. The feel of his lips. How he listened to Duck as though he was the most fascinating man in the world. The way he chirps when he’s excited. The feel of his feathers.

Oh, who is he kidding,

“Indrid?”

The Sylph is at the door in an instant.

“Something you need?”

Duck opens his arms, “Made my decision.”

Indrid trills happily, clambers into the nest with him.

“May I hold you?”

“Much as you want, darlin.” Strong, spindly arms envelope him, shifting him so one wing rests beneath him.

“I dreamed of this so often, and it’s a thousand times better than I ever thought it could be.”

Duck cuddles up against him, one hand stroking his side, “Damn, you’re real comfy.”

“You may use me as a pillow whenever your heart desires.”

“Gonna hold you to-” he yawns so wide his jaw hurts, “that, darlin.”

They talk quietly for awhile, and by the time his eyes shut Duck has a dozen questions, a hundred places he wants Indrid to show him, a thousand things he wants to do,

All that can wait for tomorrow. Right now, he is here, safe and warm in Indrid's embrace, and that is enough.


	7. The Wicked House (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 31st was: Wicked
> 
> These were really fun to do. If people liked them, I might do set for December as well. Let me know!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to MorganEAshton and tikkikwami for help brainstorming!

Duck whacks his hands together, clearing the dust from them, before raising a hand in friendly farewell to the movers. He picks his way through the boxes, up the stairs, and to his bedroom. Opening the door sends a bolt of dark, fluffed-up fur into the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry fuzzball, but I couldn’t have you bein underfoot or runnin out the door.” He scratches the cat behind her ears, and her affronted glare gives way to forgiving purrs. 

He unpacks for awhile, finds a good luck note from Juno tucked in the winter coat she gave him (“I mean it, Duck, winter up there’s a hell of a lot colder than here in West Virginia”). Orders pizza, gets the kitchen table set up in time to eat it. Flips through his to-do list for the next few days as he does. 

_ka-BOOM_

Winnie yowls and runs from the room as Duck nearly falls out of his chair. 

“What the fuck?” He dashes outside, expecting to find an exploded car or downed power-line.

He finds nothing of the sort. None of his neighbors are even poking their heads out. There’s a smaller boom, from the house next to his (his is on the corner, so he only has one neighbor). 

“Well, Woodbridge finally managed to offload one of these places, huh?”

He turns to find a rather prim looking woman walking a furious looking Pomeranian. 

“Beg pardon?”

“You’re the first person to buy any of the houses near that wicked place in years.”

Duck looks around again. Every house on the block, save for his own darkly painted victiorian and the brightly painted one next to it, has a sun-worn for sale sign in the yard. 

“What the fuck?”

———————————————

“Oh, so you’re the guy who bought the house next to Indrid Colds place?” The man at the grocery store asks as he rings him up. Duck was overjoyed to find a real mom and pop place near his house and Leo, the owner, has been chatting with him.

“So it seems.”

“Don’t let folks make you too jittery about it. Indrid’s an odd guy, but he don’t mean no harm.”

“What the hell does he do? All kinds of weird lights and noises and shit coming from that place.”

“Not a clue. Seems like you’re in a better position to find out than most of us.” He tilts his head towards the beer Duck is loading into a bag.

“Dunno, kinda like havin all my limbs. Not sure I’ll keep ‘em all if I go in there.”

Leo shrugs, “suit yourself.”

As Duck walks home with his groceries, he mulls over the suggestion; sure, the loud noises aren’t great, but they no worse and no more frequent than a loud party or a neighbor with barky dogs. 

He sets the bags down on his front step, fumbling to find which pocket he put his keys in. 

“Don’t move!”

He freezes, finds a tall man with silvery hair moving purposefully up his drive. He’s in a long, silk bathrobe and bunny slippers, bright red glasses perched on his nose. When he places his hands on Ducks shoulders and starts moving him back off the porch, Duck tenses, tries to pull away.

He can’t. The man is surprisingly strong for such a beanpole.

“Hey, pal, look-”

“No, _you_ look.” He points a finger, and Duck squints for a beat before seeing it; a black widow, dangling on a thread as she lowers down from his door frame. 

“Shit, almost walked right into her.”

“Yes, you did. I thought you might prefer not to.”

Duck takes another look at the stranger, including the spot where his hand is still resting on Ducks arm. The other man follows the gaze, pulls his hand back apologetically. 

“Gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re Indrid Cold.”

“Oh, you’ve heard of me!” Indrid smiles brightly, only to have the expression falter, “oh, ah, you’ve heard of me. I can’t say I blame people for trying to warn you away from me, given my reputation.” The last few words come out so soft and resigned, the kind of vulnerability that’s either a trap or the truth of someone who has gone a little too long without the benefit of the doubt.

“Reputation don’t matter half as much as your actions. Far as I’m concerned, the only thing I know you done for sure is save me from a nasty spider bite.” He smiles kindly, holds out his hand, “I’m-”

“-Duck Newton.” Indrid takes it, shaking it with an oddly wide smile. 

“Uh, right. Well, I’m gonna get rid of that widow, but if you wanted to come in for a beer or coffee or somethin I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“That sounds wonderful but, oh, oh dear, um, excuse me something’s just come up. Hope to see you again.” He dashes back down the path, down the sidewalk, and up the steps to his bright yellow door. 

“Huh.” Duck watches the door for a moment, then goes to get a broom. 

——————————————————–

The diner smells like eggs, bacon, and butter when Duck steps in from the chill of the early September air. 

It’s quiet, but he settles on a spot at the counter all the same, in case they need the booths for bigger groups. 

“Good morning,” a cheerful, somewhat crunchy-granola looking blonde woman greets him, pad in hand “any coffee or tea this morning?” 

“Coffee, please.”

“You got it.” She spins, grabs the pot, and pours him a mug. Several of the flatops are where Duck can see them, being worked expertly by a man who must be well over six feet tall. Whatever he’s moving about on them smells incredible.

“Ready to order?”

“Whatever he’s cookin right there.”

“Hash it is.” She smiles again.

The cook nods, and as he sets to work he asks, “you just passing through?”

“Naw, moved here a few weeks ago, got a job in the national forest.”

“Right on.”

“Oh yeah.” A voice behind him says, and he finds two older men sizing him up, “you’re the fella who got duped into buying next to Cold’s place.”

“He’s a man, Clarence, not fucking black mold.” The cook grumbles.

“How’s living next to the wicked witch treating you?” The second man, in a red ball-cap, asks.

“Warlock.” Says a clipped voice. It takes Duck a moment to see it belongs to the man going over receipts at the register, slick dark hair flecked with grey and face movie-star handsome, “if Indrid did have those abilities you all seem convinced he does, he’d be a warlock, not a witch.”

“How would you know?” Red cap retorts.

“Ey, shut up Jim, you know the boy was in the CIA. Better not disrespect him.”

“FBI, not CIA

“All I’m saying is that wherever Cold goes, disaster follows. Not to mention the man’s a known f-”

“One more syllable and you’ve got a lifetime ban.” Barclay points the spatula towards the men.

In the midst of the standoff, the bell dings. 

And Indrid Cold walks into the diner.

He’s bundled up like it’s snowing, walks up to the counter and pauses when he sees Duck. 

Duck pats the stool next to him, “Nice to see you again, neighbor.”

“Likewise.” Indrid gives that odd smile again and sits down, “Good morning Barclay, Joseph.” He nods first to the cook, then the man at the register, “Oh, and hello Dani. The usual, please.”

Dani grins, turns to one of the drink machines and comes back moments later with a cup of cocoa.

“I can’t handle how bitter coffee is, even with sugar.” Indrid says, two seconds before Duck is going to ask him why that drink.

“You’re braver than I am, that much sugar this early’d have me on the ceilin.”

Indrid smiles softly, “Lightweight.”

Duck barks out a laugh, making Indrid snicker as well. 

“Any plans for this weekend, Duck?” 

“Got some new model ships to work on, might go for a hike, nothin too excitin.”

“You don’t get enough hiking at work?” Indrid cocks his head.

“I mean, not really? It’s different when I’m on my own; I don’t got an agenda or shit I’m supposed to be takin care of. I can just go at my own pace.”

Indrid makes a noise of understanding right as Barclay sets two plates down. Indrids’ is piled with pancakes and strawberries. 

Barclay points a can of whipped cream down at the plate, “say when.”

The tower of cream is almost a foot high before Indrid goes, “when.”

As they eat, they chat about this and that, though mostly Indrid asks Duck about his move, and how he’s liking the town. Then he muses, “I’d like to go hiking sometime. I really ought to get out a bit more.”

“You can come with me sometime, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure, long as you don’t mind me talkin about trees.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Duck raises his glass in cheers, “well, if you decide you want to, you know where to find me.”

—————————————————————

Duck balances the plate of cornbread (his fathers no-fail recipe) in one hand as he lifts the other to knock on the door.

“Come in!” Indrid calls a half-second before his hands meets the wood. 

The inside of Indrid’s house is laid out much the same as Ducks own. This is where the similarities end. There are drawings scattered everywhere, pinned to walls and strewn across tables. Art and posters and letters cover the walls, each of which is painted a different color.

As he makes his way into the kitchen he notices chalk and bottles of salt, piles of old books, and many, many, many sweaters. 

Indrid is at the sink, filling a kettle with water. 

“You’re right on time, I was just making myself some tea. Though I can make something stronger if you prefer.”

“Tea’s fine.” Duck sets the plate down, “figured I oughta make a proper, neighborly introduction.”

He leaves out the part where, in the two days since they spoke at the diner, he’s thought about Indrid quite a bit. And that whenever an explosion or other odd occurrence came from next door, Ducks’ first response is no longer annoyance; it’s worry. What if something bad happened and Indrid had no one checking on him?

“I’ve been thinking” Indrid sets a mug down in front of him, sits across from him at the rickety table, “there’s a little get-together at the Lodge, that hotel on the edge of town, this weekend. If you were interested, we could hike out that way and then stop by after.”

“You know the folks there?”

“I do. Barclay and Joseph live in one of the cottages, Dani lives in the lodge proper, and they were kind enough to invite me to movie night once. I suppose I found my people, so to speak, there even if I still am a bit solitary.”

“Be happy to come, like to get to know more folks in town myself.” Duck glances back from examining some nearby drawings, and immediately knows he gave the right answer. Indrid is looking at him like he hung every star in the sky. 

——————————

Ducks’ gotten used to the occasional smoke detector cry from next door.

But this one isn’t stopping. 

He grabs the fire extinguisher from under his sink and bolts out one front door and into another. 

Smoke drifts down the stairs and Indrid is nowhere in sight. So up the stairs he goes, turning into the room where the smoke is the worst. Mercifully, there is no actual fire, just clear signs of one being hastily and messily put out. He opens the windows, and after a few minutes of cross-breeze the alarm shuts off. 

It’s only then that he hears a tap running and someone muttering. 

He crosses the hall, finds Indrid glaring into the mirror over the bathroom sink, trying to sooth a nasty looking burn on his arm. 

“Shit, what happened?” 

Indrid stares at the water, “just an accident. I was careless. I’ll be alright.”

“Here, lemme look at your arm-yeah, okay, I’m gonna go grab my first aid kit from my place.” 

He’s out and back as fast as he can manage, returns to find Indrid sitting on the toilet lid, sulking. 

Duck holds out his hand and Indrid flops his wrist into it. As gently as he can, Duck tends to the burn. It’s not bad enough to need a hospital, but it’s still a nasty looking mark.

“What were you tryin to do?” He asks softly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me?”

“I have certain…abilities. Magic. Most of it related to seeing the future. But some of it is more general, or is in other fields of the discipline, and I was trying to use one field to influence a future and it backfired.”

Duck considers him a moment, then gently squeezes his hand, “hey, it’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me. Don’t gotta make a story up on my behalf.”

“I’m not MAKING IT UP!” Indrid shouts, yanking his hand away and standing up.

“Indrid, you don’t expect me to believe-”

“ What? That I’m stuck seeing futures I can’t stop, stuck with powers I still can’t fully control, that I’ve made myself an outcast time and again all because of these blasted things.” He rips off his glasses and chucks them down the hall. Crumples to the floor, head in his hands.

Cautiously, Duck scooches across the hardwood. He wants to reach out, to soothe the tensed lines of Indrids’ body. But he’s not sure that’s what Indrid wants. Not sure if he’s royally fucked everything up.

“Okay, I’m listenin.” His voice, gentle as it is, may as well be coming through a megaphone for how Indrid flinches. Then he looks at his newly bandaged arm. 

“Ten years ago, I bought those glasses from a little curio shop. I thought they were stylish. I put them on when I got home and everything changed. Long story short, the glasses are a conduit to a demonish creature. When I put them on, he became my patron. I gained his ability to see the future, as well as some other powers. I panicked, tried to take the glasses back, but the store was simply gone. Turns out if I try to forsake his gift, it will go very badly for me, so I have to wear them all the time, save for sleep and things like that.”

“Jesus.”

“I’ve been trying to use my powers to stop the disasters I see coming but so often it doesn’t work, and then I have to watch it play out in real time after seeing it again and again in my head.” He stands, slowly, and walks to retrieve the glasses, “or when I try to do enchantments, sometimes things go haywire. Did you happen to see the little succulent garden in the living room?”

“You mean the one that’s as big as your coffee table?”

“Yes. That was originally two succulents. I bought them as a housewarming gift for you then decided maybe four was better. So I tried to magic up two more. And got a garden instead.” He’s still as he speaks, glasses held in his palm, “It isn’t all bad. I have been able to stop some things, and I’ve gotten much better at magic. But the failures so often dwarf that.”

“Indrid?” Duck stands in the bathroom doorway, waits for his friend to turn around before continuing, “thank you for tellin me all that. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Indrid’s smile is weak, but genuine.

“Are there, uh, things that help when this happens? You seem real upset and if I can help you feel better, I’d like to.”

“T.V, the mindless kind.”

Duck holds out his hand, “C’mon, let’s go downstairs.”

Indrid settles on the violet couch, wrapping himself in a thick blanket as Duck flips channels. 

“You’re from West Virgina, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then you may be familiar with my patron. I don’t know his true name, but everyone just calls him mothman.”

Duck drops the remote.

“Mothman? As in Silver Bridge, Point Pleasant, TNT plant, and all that shit?”

“Yes.” Indrid says mildly. 

“Holy shit.” He fishes the remote from under the couch.

“That’s a remarkably succinct reaction.”

“Hush you, you know I ain’t a man of many words.”

“Duck, two days ago you talked for half an hour about Kudzu.” Indrid shoots him a teasing smile, and Duck elbows him lightly. 

“Oooh, a Halloween cooking championship! Let’s watch that.”

Duck sets the remote down, joins Indrid under the blanket when the taller man opens it for him.

“You doin anythin for Halloween?”

“No” Indrid sighs, “I love it, but after the ‘living pumpkin incident,’ parents stopped letting their children trick or treat here.”

“Hmmmmm” Duck rests his hand just beside Indrids’, strokes it absentmindedly with his pinkie “y’know, Indrid, I think I got a way to fix that…..”

———————————–

Duck waves goodbye to the group of trick or treaters as they scurry back down the walkway. He has to hand it to Indrid: the man really has an eye for decoration.

The yard is strung with glowing cobwebs and purple lights, bats made of purple shadow and glitter flitting through the air. The multitude of Jack’O Lanterns flicker in a rainbow of colors, thanks to Indrid doing an enchantment on the flames. 

Ducks house is equally festive, Indrid choosing orange lights and one (magically) large pumpkin to contrast with the dark wood of the building. Currently Aubrey (Dani’s wife) and her giant rabbit (Dr Harris Bonkers, PhD) are seated on Duck’s front step on candy duty. Duck had asked for his new friends help after realizing just how nervous Indrid was that something would go haywire, and decided it was best if he was there to keep him company.

It’s been a successful Halloween so far; no explosions, no disasters, no decorations accidentally coming to life. He and Indrid chat between visitors, The Creature from the Black Lagoon plays in the background, and both of them have eaten more candy than two grown men probably should. Not a single kid who’s come to the door seems afraid of Indrid. Some are curious, and some have parents that definitely watch them closely. But most are just happy to get candy.

Best of all, whenever they’re seated on the couch, or waiting to open the door, Indrid holds Ducks hand, or sighs happily when Duck rests his arm around his shoulder.

The groups are becoming less and less frequent, and stars peek out from behind the clouds, when Indrid turns to him.

“Thank you, Duck.”

“Hey, wasn’t gonna miss an excuse to hang out with you and poach your candy.”

Indrid chuckles, “Not just for that. For everything, for being kind, for getting to know me and not writing me off as wicked. I-” He falters, turns away suddenly.

Duck may not have foresight, but he’s perceptive all the same.

“Want me to finish that sentence for you?”

Indrid looks at him wide-eyed as the ranger steps into his space, “Please.”

“I wanna get to know you better.” Duck grins, moves to pull Indrid to him.

Indrid beats him to it, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. Ducks back hits the door, Indrids fingers digging into his hair. He holds him tight, and as demanding as his kisses are the taller man’s whole body is shaking like the last leaf on a tree.

When they pull apart, Indrid rests their foreheads together.

“Yes, Duck, I would very much like to get to know you better.”

Duck kisses him again, keeps him close as he whispers, “well, happy fuckin halloween to me.”

Indrid kisses his cheek, “Indeed.”


	8. Laying in Wait (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kicking off the 2020 Prompts: Prompt for the 3rd was "Legend of Hag Hill."

When you’ve lived somewhere your whole life, you develop one of two relationships with local legends: complete and utter belief, or the belief that the legend is utter bullshit. 

For Duck, Hag Hill is solidly in that second category. Weird lights, sudden, disorienting fog, ghostly laughter; he’s hid out on the hill smoking or making out or killing time and never seen any of it, no matter how dark the sky is when he’s there. 

He’s here for a slightly new reason tonight, as some kids from his Comp 101 class at Kepler Community College asked if he wanted to hang out and pull some mild pranks on the hill. Sure, hardly anyone comes on it this time of year, because Halloween looming on the horizon always gives the tales about the hill more substance in people’s minds. He mentioned this, hoping he could sway them towards a night at the Wolfe Bar and Grille or maybe just chilling in someone’s apartment or dorm, rather than freezing their asses off on a hillside, but they all insisted. So here they’ve sat, for over an hour, under a midnight moon, with not a soul passing by.

Then again, what else would he be doing? Sitting in his shitty apartment, swearing at the heater and watching some late night, bargain bin movie? The only thing he likes doing at home he can do here. Well, kind off. Odds are the other guys would complain if he started jerking off. 

See, there’s this guy in his entomology class. Tall, with a weird face and a weirder demeanor, and only taking the class because he needs to fulfill his breadth requirements. He sits at the back next to Duck, didn’t say a word to him until two weeks ago, when he asked if Duck would help him study for the upcoming quiz. Duck assumed it was because he was the closest person to ask, but once they sat down in the coffee shop on H Street, it became clear that Indrid, his new study buddy, had another reason.

_“Thank you for agreeing to help me. You, ah, you clearly know your stuff.”_

_“How the fuck can you tell?” He barely spoke in class. _

_“I see you filling in the slides with the correct answers well before the professor says them. You know some of this already.”_

_“You gotta know a decent amount about bugs if you wanna work for the forest service.” He mumbles, bracing for the Smokey the Bear joke._

_“Oh! Oh of course, that makes perfect sense. I imagine invasive species, and symbiotic ones, are of interest in that field.”_

They hadn’t gotten to the notes for the quiz, because Duck got going about invasive insects, which lead to a discussion of moths, which lead to Indrid showing him his Deaths Head Moth tattoo, proudly explaining he’d designed it himself. They met at the cheap Chinese buffet the next night, and did actually study between trading stories about how they came to be in Kepler. Indrid laughed at once point, dyed-silver hair catching the warm light in the dim room, and Duck suddenly found that strange face strangely handsome. 

It’s nice to have a crush, it’s been awhile since he had one on a guy who might one day reciprocate. He’s pretty sure Indrid’s been checking him out this week. It’s hard to tell with those red glasses he wears. 

“Fucking finally.” Colton, he’s pretty sure that’s the guys name, shushes them into position, shattering Duck’s fantasizing.

“Can’t believe he fell for it.” Says the guy next to Duck

“I’m a pretty smooth talker when I wanna be” Colton whispers. 

Duck suddenly has a bad feeling about this, tries to back up only to snap a stick and have Colton grab his arm. 

“Hello?” A voice carries from the other side of the outcropping of grey stones. 

“What the fuck man, let go.” Duck hisses, leaves rustling under his feet.

“I really hope that is a deer.” The voice mutters.

“Now.” Colton pops up, dragging Duck with him, all the boys letting out their most blood-chilling screams.

There’s a responding yelp, followed by a cry of pain as their victim falls backwards into bramble. Duck recognizes the pink and yellow sweater as soon as he sees it, and his heart tries to crawl out his toes when the frightened gaze lands on him.

“You get it?” Colton looks to his left, where one of his friends is holding up his phone. 

“Yep. Fuck, man, you really think we’d invite you to chill with us up here? You’re such a fuckin weirdo.”

Indrid doesn’t even look at the others, his eyes remaining on Duck.

“Is, is that what you truly think of me?” 

“Pfft, see, this is what I mean. That weird way of talking, those glasses, even heard you talking to yourself, which is even fuckin weirder than that thing you do with your hands.” 

Duck likes it when Indrid flaps his hands; it means he’s excited, and an excited, happy Indrid is a sight he’s rapidly grown to adore.

Without a word, he grabs the offending phone, deleting the video before the others register what’s happening. 

“What the fuck?”

“You wanna see a funny prank? Fetch, dipshit” He hurls the phone as far as it will go, the others flipping him off and calling him every name under the sun as they run after it. 

Indrid is gone when he turns back, but he’s in time to see a flash of color disappear around the next curve in the trail. The taller man is picking thorns from his sweater, and freezes when he hears Duck’s footsteps. 

“I swear, if you try anything like that again, I will push you down the hill.”

“‘Drid” Duck reaches out, touching his arm to stop him, “I’m so fuckin sorry, I had no idea that’s what they were plannin, I thought we were hanging around to do some silly jumpscare on anyone walkin by, not that they fuckin lured you out here.”

Indrid is clearly contemplating pushing him down the hill anyway. 

“C’mon, I’m tellin the truth. Remember what happened the last time I tried to lie?”

The other man blinks, then snickers, “Ah yes, the abysmal attempt to blame cockroaches for your missing homework.”

“I’m still real fuckin sorry. And, uh, I deleted the video. Hope that phone broke on the rock when I threw it.”

Indrid raises an eyebrow, “Valiant.”

“Hush, I’m tryin to help.”

“I know.” He grins a little wider, “it’s a pity, I’ve never lived in a place with a haunted hill before. I was looking forward to observing it with friends.”

“Eh, you ain’t missin much. Place is about as haunted as my apartment.”

Indrid elbows him playfully “Come now, don’t ruin my fun. Is it true people have seen strange lights?”

“That’s what they say.”

“And that you get lost in a fog never to be seen again.”

“It’s a tiny hill in the grand scheme of things. Hard to get that lost. Uh, where are you goin, by the way?”

“Back to my car.”

“But the parking lot’s-” he turns, finds low, thick fog behind him, “thataway?”

“I thought it was this–oh, oh dear.” The fog is all around them, seeping into Duck’s skin.

“Okay, uh, well, we now it’s at the bottom of the hill, so all we gotta do is follow the slope.”

“…What slope?”

“The fuck?” The ground is flat, no matter how far he feels out with his feet.

“I propose we keep walking until we either get out of the fog or find the road.” He seems incredibly calm. 

“Good, uh, good plan.” He falls in just behind him, keeps his ears open for cars or other signs of life. He’s starting to worry, gets so distracted by it that he collides with Indrid’s back.

“Duck, are the lights associated with Hag Hill red and orange, by chance?”

“Yep.”

Indrid points to where two lights hover in the distant, dark fog, like the eyes of a waiting beast. 

“Well, fuck.”

“Run!” Indrid shoves him back the way they came, sprinting behind him on his long legs. It isn’t even two minutes before they hit a dead end.

“What the fuck, this cliff bit is on the other side of the fuckin hill from where we were!”

“Somehow I doubt the spirits care where we began, merely where we end up. Quickly, down here.” He tugs Duck behind a large, dying tree, the two of them huddling close together. 

“Dare I ask what happens to people who see the lights?”

“Never seen again.”

A bitter chuckle, “of course.” Indrid scrubs his hands up his face, tilting his glasses up as he does. Then he hisses, “Ouch, damn it all” and pulls a thorn from his finger, “gah, it still stings.”

“Here, lemme see.” Duck gently takes his wrist, “huh, yeah, looks like you got it, so at least it ain’t gonna fester. As for the sting..” Quickly, he dips his head and kisses the skin. Looks up to find Indrid blinking his brown eyes in confusion.

“What was the purpose of that?”

“To, uh, to make you feel better?”

“Are you trying to flirt right now?”

“No, uh, fuck, uh, I mean, I, uh, fuck, Indrid, if we’re gonn get eaten by ghosts or some shit, there’s somethin I wanna do.” 

With that, he grabs Indrid’s forearms and pulls him forward, kissing him. Indrid sighs against his lips, then hums happily as Duck works his way into his lap. He growls a little and Indrid shivers, breaks the kiss to nip and kiss at his neck while Duck brings his fingers up to his mouth, kissing his knuckles before drawing the pricked finger between his lips and sucking.

“_Duck_” Indrid purrs, nuzzling his cheek.

“Right here, darlin.”

Chills skitter up his spine and Indrid goes dead still in his arms, eyes wide as they stare over his shoulder. 

“Oh dear, our apologies young gentlemen.” The red light forms into a woman as it speaks, the orange light doing the same. Both are dressed like they belong at a living history museum.

“Yes, we did not know you were lovers. Those for whom our hill was meant.”

“Your hill? But don’t that make you-”

“Hags? Yes, by the language of our fellow townspeople, we were such things due to our magic.”

“I lost my life to them.” The orange-eyed sighs.

“And I mine avenging her. They buried us here, unmarked, not knowing it had always been our favorite space. A space we wished to be for others in love, in our absence.”

“I’m sorry they were so cruel to you.” Indrid says softly. 

“In the end we triumphed, our love stronger than death. We live eternally in our beloved hill, they rest uneasy and miserable in their graves.” Red eyes waves her hand, and the fog clears.

“There is your way to town, should you wish to depart now.” Orange eyes smiles, “and if you wish to tarry, around that bend you will find a place better made for privacy.”

“Thats’, uh, that’s mighty generous of you, but I’m gettin cold.”

“And I ought to check on my rats.” Indrid stands, helping Duck up before bowing a bit awkwardly, “thank you both for your, ah, help?”

The women share an enigmatic smile, and then they’re gone. 

“Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

“Agreed.” 

As they wind their way down to the parking lot, Indrid looks at Duck shyly, “Was your desire to kiss me purely near-death experience related?”

“Nope. Been thinkin about it all week. You, uh, wanna go on a date this weekend? One with less fog and mortal terror?”

“I’d be delighted.” They reach Indrid’s beat-up compact, “would you like a ride home?”

“Sure, thanks ‘Drid.” 

Indrid opens his door, then pauses, fingers drumming on the car, “or you could, ah, could spend the night at my place?”

Maybe it’s a leftover adrenaline rush, or maybe it’s just Indrid, but Duck’s suddenly feeling pretty damn brave.

“Hell yeah, darlin. Let’s go.”


	9. Apple, Delight (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 4th: Apple Orchard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Eusters Farm near Madison, which I miss very much.

Barclay has cinnamon sugar in his pores, he’s certain of it. The first of October means the crowds arrive in earnest to Amnesty Farm which, from late September to mid-November, becomes a center for fall fun. They don’t serve tons of food, but Barclay is in charge of what they do offer, his pride and joy being their apple cider doughnuts, which he’s made by dozen since eight that morning.

He’s ready to settle in for the night when he discovers he has less firewood than he thought. Ah well, Sass needs to go out anyway, a trip to the wood pile won’t kill him. 

Except, as he’s gathering an armful of chopped logs, Sass goes tearing off towards the orchards, dark fur disappearing into the shadows under the trees.

Barclay sighs, sets the wood down and starts off after him. It’s not like he can get too lost, since the farm is fenced in on all sides, but it’s supposed to rain tonight and he’d hate for him to be out in it. Plus, if he gets into the garden display again, Dani will be pissed. 

He passes the petting zoo, then the goat and sheep pens, smiling when soft clucks come from the chicken coop. They’re on a country road, so at night there’s no traffic to drown out the sounds of the farm and the nearby woods. Maybe some people find it eerie, but hes’ grateful for the relative quiet after a day of being in the kitchen. 

Skirting the end of the U-Pick Pumpkin Patch brings him to the apple orchards. There are also pear and cherry trees, but the apples make up the bulk of what they grow, and visitors are welcome to pick from designated sections. 

Now if only he could spot a wagging tail or hear a jingling collar in the midst of them. 

“Sass!” He whistles, but no shape comes bounding towards him. Usually when the dog fails to come when called, it’s because he’s chasing some poor squirrel or rabbit into the underbrush.

Which is why, when he hears a distinctly human cry of alarm, Barclay jumps out of his skin before taking off towards the subsequent barks. 

He finds Sass directing his deep woofs at a man about Barclay’s age, with dark hair that was slicked back at some point but is now mussed, and a sweater and jeans that are far too clean for him to be a farmhand. When he gets closer, he realizes he recognizes the guy; he’d been in with his family earlier that day, and Barclay had just enough time to think he was hotter than the fryer before a new wave of visitors came to the counter. Given that he was there with a woman and young girl, he’s gonna assume the guy is off-limits for flirting. 

“Sass, c’mon boy, heel.” 

The dog turns, lopes over to Barclay as he steps to the man and offers a hand. 

“Sorry, he’s a surprisingly good guard dog for something that gets distracted by butterflies.”

The man takes his hand, stands and brushes leaves from his sweater, “and he's terrifying to have bolting towards you out of the darkness.”

Barclay raises an eyebrow, “that's kind of the point of a guard dog. Y’know, keeping intruders out?”

“I’m not an intruder, I am a visitor who misplaced something.”

“We’ve been closed for two hours.”

“I’m aware. But the front gate was locked and I couldn't get anyone’s attention.”

“Because the staff who live here live out towards the back. That's why we put that phone number on the gate. '' He turns them back towards the cottage, Sass trotting happily in front of them. 

“Which would have worked perfectly. If the thing I was missing wasn't my phone.” The man holds up a smartphone.

“I mean, guess it’s good you found it, but you coulda used someone else's and let us know to look for it in the lost and found. Folks are good about bringing dropped stuff back to the main farm.”

“I considered that option but I might not have a job come morning if I did it that way.”

“Jesus, where do you work?”

“The FBI.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, pretty much.”

“That how come you were able to scale the fence so easily?”

The man nods.

“What kind of work do you do in the FBI?” He may as well make the most of having a cute guy walking with him. A little practice flirting can’t hurt. God knows he needs it. 

“I work for the, um, the UP.”

“....Holy shit, I didn’t know that was real, I thought they made it up for the _X-Files_.”

“No, though it involves far more dead ends than that show portrays. Oddly, Twin Peaks is more accurate to what I do.”

“Man, that’s fucking cool agh, shit” rain patters on the leaves, “please tell me you moved your car away from the gate?”

“Only a little.”

“Shit. Okay, you probably figured it out from wandering around, but we are literally on the other end of the property right now, and the golf cart is in the shop.”

“It’s, um, it’s alright, if you get me to the main route through the farm, I can walk back on my own and climb the fence. Again.” His tone suggests he’s already working through the logistics in his head. 

“Uh, if you aren't in too big a hurry, at least let me swing by my place and get you a raincoat?”

“Oh. Um, that’d be great. Thank you.”

They veer right and soon the cottage comes into view. He grabs some dry firewood while Sass waits on the step and the man rubs his hands together. 

Once they’re inside, the man turns to him and Barclay has to work to keep his focus on his words rather than the blue eyes and handsome face.

“May I use your restroom? I got a bit muddy.” He holds up his hands. 

“Just down the hall.” 

The man smiles, and Barclay starts building a fire as he walks away. There’s a ding, and he goes to check in case Mama needs something. But it's not his phone, it’s the other man's, glowing where he set it on the table. 

_Hayes: I expect better than technical mishaps from you, agent._

Shit, he wasn’t kidding about work. And his other notification is showing thirty unread emails.

The water shuts off in the bathroom and he hurries back to the fire, is just getting it caught when there’s a groan behind him. Turning, he sees his guest running a hand through his black hair, staring defeatedly down at his phone. 

“I’m moving to the bottom of the sea.”

Barclay chuckles and the man looks a little embarrassed at being heard.

“If you want something closer to home, we're hiring seasonal help.”

“I’m sure it’d do wonders for my physique, if you’re anything to go by, but I doubt I’m cut out for it. I’m white-collar through and through, unfortunately. Sorry” he looks at the hardwood floor, “probably shouldn’t whine about my job, since you’re helping me stay dry instead after I committed at least two misdemeanors on your property.”

“It’s Mama’s, I just work here. And it’s okay. Though, uh, kinda surprised you wanna talk to some random dude on a farm about it instead of, like, your wife.”

“Wife?”

“The woman who was with you today? You came into the restaurant at one point.”

“Oh! No, that’s my sister, I came with her and my niece. Her opinion on my work troubles is to get a boyfriend so I’ll have someone to complain to.”

Barclay closes the fire grate slightly harder than he means to at that last sentence.

“Did, uh, did you all have a good time?”

“Very. Ellie, my niece, adored all the animals, and Lily comes here every year to pick out pumpkins for decorating the house. I, um, my favorite part was the food. Those doughnuts were amazing, as were the pumpkin scones.”

Barclay blushes; a cute guy complimenting his cooking tends to make him all fluttery.

“You thought those were good, then I got something you need to try. Uh, I mean, if you want to stay a little, if not I can get the coat and we can go.”

The man looks at his phone, then back to Barclay, “what the hell, things are under control until the morning. I’d love to stay. Um, may I dry my sweater by the fire? It got pretty wet just in the few minutes we were out.”

“Sure thing uh, Mr-”

“Joseph is fine.”

Barclay smiles, heading for the kitchen, but not before watching Joseph's shirt catch on his sweater and ride up, revealing honest-to-god cut muscle. Instead of asking if he can lick apple butter off his abs, he grabs the jar of said butter, the loaf of bread, and starts a kettle for tea. 

Soon he’s setting a plate and a cup of cranberry-apple tea in front of Joseph, who inhales appreciatively.

“Let me guess; you made all of this?”

“Yep, the apple butter is an old family recipe.”

They eat in silence for a few moments until Sass, roused from his spot by the fire by the smell of food, pads over to sit in front of Joseph and stare. When that fails to produce treats, he turns his puppy-dog eyes on Barclay. The cook makes him sit and shake before tossing him a small piece of bread.

“What kind of dog is he?”

“Bernese Mountain Dog and Rottweiler, we think.”

“Is his name short for something?”

Barclay smiles, “Sasquatch. He had huge feet as a puppy.”

“We have similar dog-naming habits.” Joseph pulls out his phone, “this is Nessie.” When he turns it, Barclay almost snorts tea out his nose, unprepared for the sight of a greyhound in a sweater decorated with tiny Loch Ness Monsters. 

“Believe it or not, she adores that sweater. Last time I took it off to be washed, she whined for an hour.”

“Awww” It’s an adorable image, but not quite as adorable as the thought of Joseph on laundry day, in pajama pants and one of Barclay’s shirts, hair still relaxed from a shower. 

“She’s a good girl.” He tucks his phone away, “I feel terrible whenever I have to travel for work; my sister can’t take her so I have to board her somewhere, and it’s just infrequent enough that she forgets the staff and is terrified of them anew each time.”

“We could always get her used to me and board her here, assuming she and Sass get along.” The offer is sixty percent out of the goodness of his heart and forty percent wanting to see Joseph smile. 

“You’d really do that?”

“The farm is secure, she’d have a playmate, and there’d be lots of people here looking after her. She’d sleep in the cottage, of course.”

Joseph gives him an inquisitive look, then glances down at Sass, who’s wagging his tail so hard he’s sweeping the floor.

“Sure, what the hell. Assuming they get along, the next time I have to go, she can stay here.”

They chat for awhile longer about books, cooking, and various farm mishaps, before Barclay reluctantly fetches the spare raincoat so they can get Joseph back to his car. 

“Doesn’t quite bring out your eyes the way that sweater does.” He murmurs, then tries to correct for the come-on with, “because it’s such a, uh, a nice sweater?”

Joseph stays close to him as he replies “I’d offer to trade, but I’m not sure any of my clothes could survive that broad chest.” He ghosts his fingers across Barclays shirt, “Though it could be fun to see them try.”

The walk to the gate isn’t nearly long enough, and he blushes when Joseph once again thanks him profusely for his help and his company. The walk back, however, feels like an eternity, one that gives him time to doubt the other man had any interest in him at all. 

But all that evaporates when he gets home. Because sitting on the table is a slip of paper with a phone number and a short message. 

_For arranging dog playdates. And dinner next Friday if you’re interested._

_-Joseph_

And sitting just below the message is a small, precisely drawn heart.


	10. Treasure (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 9th was: Knight Terror

Knights are generally well-prepared, the way those in charge of the kingdom's wellbeing ought to be. Prepared for monsters bursting from the woods or dropping from the sky, prepared to protect citizens from harm, prepared to guide royalty through all manner of perils. 

What Duck Newton, knight of the realm of Kepler, was not prepared for was being carried off by a fucking dragon.

He didn’t even know there were dragons in this part of the world.

Worse the dragon doesn’t seem to know his haul contained an unwilling extra item, and so he’s dumped Duck into some sort of sorting room, rather than a central horde or other spot where he might be able to see the cave entrance and get out. 

Beacon is somewhere in this mess, but he’s coiled and so can't talk. It figures, the one time that obnoxious sword’s even more obnoxious voice would be helpful is the time Duck remembered to silence him. 

He’s never been so freaked out in his life. Fuck, he can’t even tell where the door is. 

That problem is resolved and immediately replaced with a much worse one when a stone panel swings open and a large, black-scaled dragon appears. 

“Huh. I was half convinced there was something wrong with my foresight, But no, there is indeed a human in my storage room. How on earth did you even get here?” He takes in Ducks clothes, the insignia on his chest, his armor. Red eyes narrow, “did you follow me, oh brave knight, hoping to slay me in my sleep?”

“No, I was in the goddamn carriage when you just lifted the whole fuckin thing up and flew off.”

“And what were you doing in a carriage meant for treasure alone?” The dragon cocks his head. 

“Guardin’ it.”

“And what, exactly, were you to do to an attacker?” The dragon drops to all fours, thoroughly blocking the exit.

“Uhhhhhhh, um, to, uh, to not, fuck, to do not slayin? Fuck. Look,their directions weren’t real clear. They just told me I was headed for a royal guest.”

The glowing red eyes widen with understanding Duck does not share. “So that’s what they told you? A pity” The dragon steps closer, and Duck refuses to flinch when hot breath ruffles his hair, “I was hoping they had been truthful with mine.”

“With your what?” Duck looks down just as a black clawed hand is held out to him.

“I will explain in a moment. This is one of the colder parts of my lair, and I would rather have this discussion somewhere warm. Come.” He flattens his palm and Duck, energized by the thought of being somewhere with more escape routes or weapons, sits down in it. The dragon carries him out; it’s smaller than he assumed, maybe twenty feet at most from his head to the tip of his tail. But it’s terrifically strong, given that it picked up the carriage he was in as if it weighed no more than a sugar cube. 

“What is your name?” One eye regards him with a glint of...something. It looks pleased whenever it scans over his body. 

“Sir Duck Newton. It’s a nickname.”

“It is nice to meet you, Duck Newton. I am Indrid Cold.” His voice is remarkably lilting, not at all the deep rumble Duck expected.

“This is the parlor.” The dragon sets him down near an immense fireplace, embers glowing warmly nd reclines against a large pile of furs and pillows, “my room and horde is just through there. You may see it later, if you like, I am rather proud of it. 

“Uh, no thanks, I’ll need to be headin back to take my licks for losin the thing I was guardin.” His hope is that if he acts as if the dragon has no reason to keep him around, it will just let him go.

“Ah yes, about that.” He taps a claw on the stone floor, “you see, this is terribly awkward. That carriage was meant for me. As were you. I knew you would be arriving soon, but not when, and I was preoccupied using my visions to watch for danger, and thus did not realize you were in it until after we returned.” 

“Why do you keep sayin that I’m yours, what do you need a human for? Oh _fuck_, am I fuckin dinner or something?” 

“Nono, nothing of the kind. In many ways you are the opposite. You see, it has long been a tradition for kingdoms along the Draco Mountain Range to send a knight to act as an assistant to each dragon. When there were more dragonborns and fewer standard dragons, there was another, ah, _component_ as well.”

“But you ain’t a dragonborn, so we don’t gotta worry about that second part?” He crosses his fingers in hope.

A sigh, “Technically I am dragonborn; long story painfully short, I was blamed for something I did not do and was cursed to remain like this for eternity. But no one outside of a few trusted friends knows that. So your kingdom assumed I could still take my more human form. Which means they chose you for the, ah, the second purpose as well as the first. You are meant to be my consort.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and then Duck is standing, looking for something to put between himself and the dragon, “nope, nope, no fuckin way, this ain’t happen, this can’t be happenin.”

“Oh dear, you are frightened.” The dragon furrows his brow

“I’m fucking terrified! Who wouldn’t be?!”

Indrid starts to move towards him and then thinks better of it, “I promise, you have nothing to fear. Is it not clear that the arrangement means I will not eat or otherwise harm you?” Indrid blinks at him, seeming perplexed. 

“And the part where I’m supposed to be the start of some fuckin dragon harem or some shit is supposed to calm me down?” Duck’s voice echoes off the walls. 

“You did not let me finish my explanation. While that is the misconception your kingdom is under, I will under no circumstances expect you to fulfill it. Your duties here will be as if I was born this way, so you will primarily do small household tasks, assist with security, and aid me in things where having small hands is helpful.” Indrid is frustratingly calm, as if Duck is the one being ridiculous for being afraid of this whole situation and the implications of his initial explanation.

“Great, just fuckin great, so I’m your servant now.” Duck rubs his forehead, as if that might make this all stop. 

“Nothing of the sort. You may do tasks, but I must do the same. We are sharing this home, so we must each participate in its maintenance. So no, you are not my servant. Although you are part of my horde.”

“I’m not a fuckin necklace or somethin you dipshit!”

“You are not an object, if that is what you fear, and I do not see you as one. I, ah, my horde is made up of that which I value or find pleasing. You can be both those things as a human. You are a treasure and I will treat you as one. I will bring you the finest silks, jewels, works of art, whatever your heart desires, for everything that is mine is now yours. Indeed, you may be that which I treasure most; just looking at you makes me happy, and I dearly wish to curl around you and keep you safe.”

Chills run along Duck’s skin, and he notices the embers have gone out, meaning the only light is the red glow of Indrid’s eyes, pinning Duck in place. Vibrations move cross the stone.

“Hold the fuck on, are you, uh, purrin from thinkin about takin care of me?”

Indrid blinks several times, shakes his head, “Yes, it seems I was. I, ah, I apologize for all I just said it, it sort of came up unbidden. I wonder if that is why they chose you, if someone knew that you would be the most appealing human I ever laid eyes on.”

Duck tries not to be flattered, tries to focus on figuring out what the fuck he’s supposed to do now, but it’s hard with the way Indrid is looking at him with affectionate curiosity.

“Look, Indrid, I don’t mean no offense, but this is all super fuckin weird and I just...I don’t fuckin understand why they sent me and not, I dunno, a princess? Ain’t that traditional?”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why would they send princesses? Most of them are trained to run the kingdom, and thus are rather important. Knights as far more expendable.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You asked me for their reasoning. I did not say that I agree. Did no one ever suggest you might be trained for a specific role?”

He freezes, thinking back on ll the times he was encouraged to pursue knighthood for the sake of a supposed destiny. Then so much anger hits him at once he has to sit down on the cold floor, even as the dragon nudges a human sized chair his way. 

“_That’s_ why they were so fuckin determined to get me to accept my destiny. Fuck, they made it seem like I was trainin’ to do somethin great, to protect people, and all the while they knew they were just gonna ship me off without warnin! ‘Oh, sorry Duck, you don’t get to have a life of your own, we gotta train you up so you can go be a fuckin dragon toy!”

“That was rather uncalled for.”

“Well what the fuck else am I gonna call it? You talk about dressin me up, sleepin with me, you seem to think I ain’t no more than something you get to look at it.”

“I think no such thing” the narrow tip of his tail thrashes, “I am trying to be hospitable. I have not had a human visit me for more than a few hours before, forgive me for a few missteps. And I am not the one who misled you about your destiny, so kindly direct that anger elsewhere.” The last few words come out in a growl. 

Duck’s so pissed he growls right back

“Fine. I’m gonna walk my ass back to Kepler and give ‘em all a piece of my mind.” He spins on his heel, only for Indrid to zip in front of him. 

“No, do not do that. It is considered a literal declaration of war.”

“......are you fuckin _kiddin me_?”

“No. Now please move away from the door.” Indrid tries to scoot him backwards with his tail. Duck slaps the scales, causing Indrid to yelp.

“You only did that in one future.”

“I can move my own damn self. And I plan on movin it somewhere I can get some privacy.”

Indrid points down the center most tunnel, “The third door on the right is yours.”

“That feels like a trap.”

“It is a study. Equipped for humans, including a bedroom and washroom”

Well, that’s better than sleeping on top of a dragon. 

He turns without another word, and as the room disappears from view he hears the slow slide of scales on stone, heading the other direction.

\----------------------------------------------

Indrid reaches his bedroom and proceeds to clonk his head into the door.

There was no way around that confrontation. The moment Duck Newton asked for an explanation, there was no future where he was not upset by what Indrid told him. Indrid does not blame him at all, and he’s quite angry with whoever in Kepler misled him for so long. 

None of that changes how excited he was when he was informed he’d soon be getting a human companion. He has visitors and friends of all kinds, but he’s lived alone ever since the disaster that led to his transformation. He was so looking forward to having someone to talk with, to get to know, to be gentle and kind to, something a dragon his size is not given many chances to do. 

There’s a much smaller horde in the corner, full of items he thought a human might enjoy. Dragonborns still hold the custom of giving those they wish to charm (in platonic or romantic ways) finery as a show of goodwill. His eyes keep drifting back to the red cloak woven with gold and the green shirt made to accentuate muscles. Duck would no doubt look remarkable in them. 

But the human wants to be alone, wants nothing to do with Indrid. If Indrid is to make him feel at home here, he must abide by that desire. He sighs, curling around his horde. The way forward may become clear after some rest. 

Later that night, he sets several items of clothing,the finest he can find that are still simple, as Duck seems to prefer that style, next to a plate of fish from the nearby stream. He charred them on the hearth so they’d be warm, though this resulted in one being burnt to a crisp. 

He ate that one as penance for frightening the human. 

The next morning the plate is clean but the clothes are there. Indrid leaves them be until mid-morning and then replaces the plate with a bowl of blackberries and more fish. Since there are books in the study, he leaves the human tools for embroidery, in case that is a hobby he prefers. 

This process repeats for the next three days, with Duck never taking anything besides the food. 

On the fourth morning, Indrid leaves one of his favorite items he collected for the human; a kit with seedlings and a stone that mimics the sun, allowing one to grow the plants even in the dark of the cave.

When he comes back that afternoon, the space in front of Duck’s door is empty. This both pleases him and gives him an idea. He knocks on the door, then steps back, opting after a moment to go on all fours so as not to tower too much over the human. 

“Yeah?” The drawl sounds tired more than hostile.

“I was wondering if you would like to see the gardens. You, ah, that is, I can lead you to them and then leave you be, you do not need to be around me if you do not wish to.”

The door creaks open, and Duck peers out.

“How can you garden in a cave?”

“Let me show you?” 

The walk is silent and awkward, but when they arrive Duck’s entire face lights up. Indrid preens a bit, answers the question he sees coming. 

“I believe when the mountains formed, something caused this area to not come together. Hence the lack of a cave roof.”

“Are all these yours?” Duck kneels down, radiant in the sunlight, examining a pumpkin plant.

“Indeed. I grow some for medicine and spell purposes, and some for food. Larger plants tend to work best for food, in that I can harvest them more easily. which is why there are many squash and melons. But, you will notice there are many unplanted patches. If you wish to garden, I can procure whatever you need.”

Duck grins, “Hell yeah. Wonder if I could get a tree or two to take. I’ll have to study the soil and the sun a bit before I know what I need.” 

“Take as long as you desire. You can find your way back?”

The human turns fully to him, glances down at the dirt, “You can, uh, stay if you want. Wouldn't mind the company.”

Indrid dips his head, and settles into his favorite sunny spot, body curving around the bushes. 

“Y’know, you’re a real different shape from what I expected.”

“My friend Barclay once said I looked as if I was a noodle that sprouted legs and wings.”

Duck giggles, “Yeah, that’s about right.”

Indrid flicks his wings, “I will have you know I am a very dignified noodle.” 

Duck laughs harder at his prim tone, then his face turns serious, “Indrid I, uh, I wanna apologize for how I acted. I know you don’t mean no harm. It was just a lot to take in, and then realizin everyone had been lyin to me, rather than lettin me make a real choice about my destiny.”

“I understand, and I do not hold it against you. I want this to be a welcoming home for you, Duck. I have no intention of keeping you from other things you love or have trained for. And I foresee us being rather good friends and, hmm, I suppose collaborators is the right word. If you need more space, I will give it, but I would also like the chance for us to get better acquainted.”

Duck picks up a handful of earth, rubbing it between his fingers, and when he smiles this time it’s meant for Indrid, “Think I’d like that too.”

\------------------------------------------

“Damn, this is real soft.” Duck rubs the sleeve of the deep blue bathrobe.

“Oh good, it is yours.” 

“You sure, it was in your pile-”

“-as I have said, my horde is yours to use.” The dragon smiles, goes back to sorting paintings. A summer storm has ruined their plans to sit by the river, Indrid fishing or sunning himself while Duck swam or went for a walk. So they’ve opted to pare down Indrid’s horde, finding things Duck wants or can use as well as things the dragon no longer likes or needs, Duck using his knowledge of Kepler to figure out where in town could benefit from a sudden influx of precious metal. 

“How about this? Wait, damn, though it was suspenders.” Duck grapples with the leather and silver straps. Indrid trills a laugh, only for his cheeks to turn golden.

“That is meant to be worn over a bare torso.”

“Oh, uh, did you used to wear it?”

“Oh no, I do not like the texture, but I know some humans who wore it beneath their clothes. Orcs also wear them in the summertime. My second cousin married into an orc family.” He adds when Duck raises an eyebrow. 

“While I must admit the idea of you in it as intended is...intriguing” Indrid holds out a claw, at the end of which dangles a pair of suspenders. 

“Thanks, ‘Drid.” It’s a double thanks. The suspenders are nice, but Duck appreciates the dragon trying to reign in his enthusiasm for Duck’s looks. It’s not that he doesn’t like feeling attractive, but the idea of a royal dragonborn stuck in his dragon form feeling that way about his squishy, farm-born body is too much. Just...too much. But Indrid has, on Duck’s request, scaled back the comments about his attractiveness and him being Indrid’s treasure. The more he's done so, the easier it’s been for Duck to accept his attempts to fuss over him. 

The dragon is true to his offer to give Duck whatever he desires; the finest oils for his baths, soft linens on the bed, any food he wants (that first week, he walked into the kitchen to find the dragon trying valiantly to make a human sized french onion soup). While he cannot breathe fire, he does all manner of spells to make Duck’s life easier, and last week he even took Duck on a low flight over the forest.

What Duck is enjoying even more are the evenings stargazing with his back against Indrid’s side, the way they trade information about their respective corners of the natural world. He enjoys not eating his meals alone. 

(He’s been dressing nicer for dinner lately, wasn’t even aware he was doing it two nights ago, when Indrid arrived with jeweled dust on his wings and Duck spent several minutes trying to work out why the dragon felt he had to dress up). 

There’s a wistful sigh, and he turns to find Indrid perched on a cushion (in truth, the dragon's nest is far more pillows, fabric, and cushions than it is gold or gems), holding a framed drawing in his hands. 

“I do so miss drawing. To do it in this form is such a rigmarole, I have not done more than a rudimentary sketch in a long time.”

“There ain’t a spell for it?” Duck climbs to where sitting puts him eye to eye with Indrid. 

“None that can replicate the feeling of being so consumed by creativity, the tactile sensations and the working and reworking until you have something you are proud of.” He looks at Duck, eyes, and voice far away, “so many things I would do, were my hands not immense and clawed.”

“Bet you’re real clever with ‘em.”

The double meaning only registers when the gold blush once again blooms on Indrid’s cheeks. 

“I, uh, I’m gonna run that one sack of stuff over to Aubrey and Dani. You want to wait on dinner until I get back?”

Indrid smiles, “Yes, I can wait.”

\-------------------------------

Fall comes early this high in the mountains, and with it comes the chill. Duck wakes up shivering, and none of the blankets are enough to chase the cold from his bones. Maybe Indrid has something he can use. 

He only means to be in the room an instant, but as soon as he enters warmth floods him. Indrid explained he ran warm, as all dragons do, but got cold easily. In the summer, the heat radiating from him disappeared beneath the warmth in the air. Now it’s noticeable in the cold cave. Noticeable and tempting. 

He offered once to curl around Duck as he slept, which--to his goosebumped skin--sounds like a good plan.

No, he’ll just find more blankets somewhere else. 

His heel knocks over something that clanks, and Indrid opens an eye.

“Duck? Is everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah, just got colder than I thought. I was, uh, was wonderin…”

Even in the near-darkness, Indird’s scales glint, and his eyes glow gently as he waits for Duck to finish. 

“...I was wondering if I could, uh, take you up on that offer to sleep next to you. I’m thinkin on top might be safest. I mean, uh, if that's still alright?”

Indrid holds out his hand, helping Duck onto his back and handing him a pillow and three blankets.

“Are you comfortable?” The dragon nestles back down into his bed.

“Yeah, this is real nice. Thanks, Drid.”

“You are welcome, Duck.”

Duck has kissed before, has fucked plenty, has lain in bed next to someone. Yet the rise and fall of Indrid beneath him, the steady sound of his heart when Duck lays his head down, the soft purr that leaves him when Duck rubs his cheek on his scales, are unfamiliar in their intimacy and thus twice as captivating. 

Which is why, when he awakens, their absence is instantly obvious. As is their replacement with a much smaller chest beneath his head. 

“Well, I must say this is a surprise”

It’s Indrid’s voice, and when Duck sits up, startled, it’s somehow unmistakably Indrid’s face staring up at him. The ruby eyes are the same, as is the smile and the color of his horns and the scales peeking out in patches on his skin. 

“My mother was only half dragonborn.” He says to the question Duck almost asks.

“Fuckin stunnin.” Duck breathes out. 

Indrid reaches up, cupping Duck’s cheek with a slender, slightly scaled but very human hand. 

“I fear it will not last. My foresight tells me I will revert to my dragon form in a few moments. But this is a singularly interesting development.”

“No kiddin. Guess we know there is way to get you back.”

“Agreed. Ah, before I revert, will you permit to do something?”

“Anythin.”

Indrid sits up, and places a gentle, cool kiss on Duck’s cheek.

“Oh yes” He sighs, resting their foreheads together as his body begins shimmering “just as lovely as I thought.”

And then Duck is once again atop a large dragon. 

“Whelp, no we really gotta break the curse.”

“Oh?”

“Because I wanna kiss you back, properly. And soon.”


	11. Third Time's The Charm (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 10th was: stitches

“I ain’t sure what you thought was gonna happen. That canopy is fuckin dense.”

“In my, ouch, defense I, ow, only crash landed in one percent of futures, OW!” Indrid cuts off into chitters of pain as Duck continues stitching up his shoulder near his wing.”

You know, Duck had been hoping someone from home would visit him out here in Brazil. He just wasn't expecting the mothman to be the first one to show up. 

And he really wasn’t expecting him to crash to the ground near Ducks small cabin that he stays in when not in the field. In spite of his wing clearly bleeding, he’d told Duck to hurry into town to head off yet another fire. When Duck came back two hours later to find Indrid trying to stitch up his wing using the bathroom mirror and a very odd contortion, he ordered him to sit down on the closed toilet seat so he could do the damn thing right. 

He’s halfway through now, Indrid’s feathers making things tricky. The Sylph staying in this form until it was over, since his pain tolerance is higher when he’s not human.

“Thank you for not insisting on taking me to a hospital.”

“The closest one is an hour away and I don’t know enough Portuguese to explain the mothman to a doctor.” Duck adjusts his stance slightly so he’s not blocking the light he needs to work, “gotta say, for all your chirpin, you’re doin pretty damn well.”

“As you pointed out, one cannot go as ‘mothman’ to a hospital. And after documentation became more common, it became harder to produce identifying documents that wouldn’t raise too many questions. One gets used to home surgery and unpleasant infections.”

Duck raises an eyebrow, concerned by the last part of that sentence.

“Do not worry, Duck Newton, I know enough healing spells that it has never become an issue.”

“I mean, that’s good to know but Indrid, that ain’t no way to live.”

“Perhaps not. But it was often the price of helping prevent disaster. Or trying to.”

“You helped us a hell of a lot in Kepler.”

The Sylph hums in acknowledgement, hisses as Duck pulls the last stitch through. He stays quiet as Duck bandages him. Awkward silence is broken only by insects and the occasional bird, and a question taps at the back of Duck’s skull.

“I, uh, I thought you were goin back to Sylvain. Handin the job off to Leo and all that.”

“I considered that, and Leo is welcome to use his foresight as he pleases. But as I told you on our first meeting, I fell in love with earth. I have been away from Sylvain for a long time. I searched for a solution to her decline for a century. You and the others solved it in one-hundredth of that time. So it is not as if the kingdom will welcome me back as a hero. And I do not want my old position back. No, Duck Newton, if I am going to be a failure, have my warnings ignored, I may as well do so on the planet I like better.”

“Now, hold on-” Duck wants to argue, but Indrid swivels his head, red eyes as disconcerting as they were when they met. He looks very sure of his conclusion. More than that, he looks tired.

“Your question had a dual purpose, so I will answer what was implicit; you want to know why I’m here and not somewhere else.”

“I, uh, I mean yeah, but I ain’t-”

“-trying to be rude, nono, I do not doubt that. I came to you because the fire I foresaw would be as bad, if not worse, as the one you are helping undo the damage from. And it is easier to stop disaster when I don’t have to waste time making someone believe I can really see the future.” He stands, taking up half the bathroom, “thank you for your help. I will put on my glasses and be on my way. Can I trouble you for a ride into town?”

“No, I mean yeah, but jesus christ Indrid, you _crashed_. I just finished stitching you up! You oughta rest up some.’

Indrid cocks his head, “Yes, hence the trip into town. I can rest there until my wing is healed.”

“You got no one to tend those stitches, and I got a couch that ain’t bein used.”

“But you do not want me here.” He barely sounds hurt, just resigned, and somehow that makes Duck feel worse than if the Sylph was crying.

And a little annoyed.

“Did I say that?”

“No. But we were hardly close friends, and what is more you have spent a great deal of your life with aliens popping into your space unannounced. Where is she, by the by? I thought she was coming with you.”

Duck sticks his hands into his pockets, staring down as he shrugs, “forestry ain’t exactly her area of interest. And, uh, once the trauma-bondin’ wore off, think we both needed some time to sort some things out.”

Indrid stares blankly at him a moment, and then he chirrs, “You’re lonely.”

“Hey I, I’m uh, I- how the fuck did you know that?”

“You said so in some futures.”

“Are there futures where you accept my offer and get your fuzzy ass on the couch before you pass out?” Duck doesn’t mean to sound grumpy, but Indrid just bumped into two sore spots in Duck’s psyche.

Oddly, Indrid snickers, “I forgot how stubborn you can be. Very well, I accept your offer of the couch.”

By the time Duck gets back with a spare pillow, the Sylph is asleep, chirping peacefully. 

\------------------------------------------------

“What are you doing?”

“GAHfuck”

“Apologies.” Indrid only looks partially sorry, his human grin wide when Duck glares at him. 

“That some sort of Sylph silence spell?”

“No, just years of practice trying not to be heard in the halls when I was seer.” 

Last Duck saw him, he was still asleep on the couch, mumbling and chirring in pain when Duck changed the bandage. Duck would like to say that’s all he remembers, except there was a moment after he finished and Indrid’s eyes fluttered open as he sighed out a “thank you.” And that sight, the way Indrid looked in the morning light, safe and trusting, had tugged at his heart. 

“May I keep you company? I am not in much of a state to do much else, even watch futures. Hitting my head tends to do that.” 

“Uh, sure. I’m on my own for the mornin, not sure how excitin it will be.”

“I wish to know everything.”

Duck’s about to make a crack about being careful what you wish for when he gets a good look at Indrid’s face. The Sylph is grinning eagerly and is even flapping his hands a bit as he speaks.

“I want to see what you see in this jungle.”

So Duck shows him, everything from the saplings they’ve chosen to the creatures darting in and out of view. Indrid asks questions and makes excited noises, but mostly he listens, lets Duck talk or not as it pleases him. They’ve been in a stretch of silence when Duck turns and guffaws. 

Indrid, sitting on a log, is covered in butterflies, some as big as Duck’s hand and in all colors of the rainbow. 

“Guess they know a relative when they see one.”

The Sylph beams, “I was wondering how long it would be before you noticed.”

“Wait, did you summon them?”

“No, they just sort of...do this. It may be for moth reasons, or perhaps I have eaten so much sugar they smell it in my pores. I was, however, hoping they would join me, because I foresaw it making you happy.”

That same affection sparks in Duck’s chest.

“Alright, you heard enough from me today. Now I wanna know all about what you been doin since the world didn’t end.”

Indrid tells him about his attempts to stay in Kepler, his promise to Stern to not get photographed too much, his relentless teasing of Barclay for falling in love with the agent. His travels to other states to stop disasters, newly energized in his successes in Kepler.

“If you can call them that,”

“I’d say you can.”

Indrid holds out his hand, studying the speckled butterfly perched on it, “You renewed so much of my belief that things could change. At the cottonwood, when you promised me you’d find a way to stop what was coming, stop the sinkhole I...it meant a great deal. Even if your method of freeing me was rather, ah, abrupt.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “Yep, not my best plan, but it worked.”

“The bruise only lasted nine days, it was worth it in the end.”

Duck shoots him a playfully hurt smile, “Hey, don’t make me feel bad, I apologized.”

Indrid raises an eyebrow.

“Oh _fuck” Duck tugs his hat down over his eyes, “I didn’t, I never fuckin apologized for punchin you.”_

_“In your defense, there were more pressing matters.” There it is again, that resignation. Duck wants to yank it out of Indrid’s tone and stomp it to bits. Instead, he steps forward, rests a hand on each of Indrid’s biceps. _

_“Indrid, I’m so fuckin sorry. Even if it helped save you, I’m sorry you got hurt again and it was me that did it.”_

_“I…” Indrid closes his mouth, opens it again, repeats that motion before managing, “I did not see that reply coming.” He smiles a new smile, small and secretive, as if he’s been given something precious, “thank you for saying that, Duck.”_

_\-----------------------------------------------------_

_“I see why they call it a rainforest.” Indrid stares out the window as drops batter it._

_“Yep.” Duck zips up his raincoat, smirking at the bundled up silver haired man, “guessin you ain’t joinin me?”_

_“I do not enjoy wet weather. Though if you want company I can oh, no, never mind.”_

_Duck’s radio crackles, and a quick conversation informs him that the conditions at the current reforestation site are too swamped to get anything done._

_“Guess I got the day off. Uh, what do you wanna do?”_

_“I planned to draw and track futures, but I foresee you offering to teach me a card game, and I prefer that future.”_

_They end up on the floor by the couch, since Indrid seldom sits in chairs in a normal way anyway, mug of coffee in front of Duck and tea with half the sugar jar in front of Indrid. Duck teaches him several games, and as they play Indrid gets going on a tangent about his stint as a cardshark in Las Vegas, and the years he relied on hitchhiking to get around. Duck tells him about growing up in Kepler, about all the years between turning eighteen and now, the ones that plenty of people in his life treated as irrelevant to his life story. _

_They end up playing and talking until nightfall. Duck knows he should head to bed, that he has work tomorrow, but he doesn’t want to stop hearing Indrid’s laugh or seeing him scribble down futures. _

_He misses him when he goes to sleep._

_Around eleven, his body makes an executive decision and he nods off leaning against the couch. He wakes up a few hours later to fluff on his cheek and comforting weight across his chest. Opening his eyes, he finds his head is in Indrid’s lap and a large black wing blankets him. _

_Even in his sleep, Indrid is terrifying in this form. At least, that's the argument his brain makes; Indrid is huge and alien, dangerous when he wants to be. _

_His heart disagrees. There’s nothing to be scared of. Indrid is his friend, wants nothing from him other than to get to know him. He’s soft, that helps, and clearly thinks of Duck as someone worth protecting. The sleep chirping is pretty fucking cute, too. _

_Red eyes open, two nightlights in the dark cabin. Indrid’s antenna are twitching and he’s clicking the claws of his upper hands together. _

_“Apologies, you sort of nodded off while we were talking and I caught you when you tipped over. I felt odd carrying you to bed, and this form seemed better to lay on, and then you started shivering so I put my wing-oh.”_

_Duck rolls over so he’s on his side, facing Indrid’s fuzzy abdomen, “Not complainin’, ‘Drid. Just adjustin’.”_

_He shuts his eyes, and for a moment clawtips trace his hair._

_“Goodnight, Duck.”_

_\----------------------------------------------_

_He’s been living with Duck for three months now. Far too long to count as “recovery” and thoroughly pushing the definition of “vacation.” Indrid doesn’t want to go. And Duck doesn’t want him to either, if his actions are any indication. He’s fixed up the one spare room to be a guest room, includes Indrid in planning out the week, including planning a few day trips on the days he isn’t working. It's as if he wants Indrid around._

_(It’s as if he wants a future with him)._

_Indrid can no longer attribute it solely to loneliness. Yes, Duck misses his friends and family, but he clearly gets along with his fellow rangers and the other staff on the project, and in that very Duck way of his has become a regular at places in the nearby town, having enough Portuguese to ask the woman who runs the cafe about her grandkids or the mail carrier how his garden is doing. _

_Which means he’s keeping Indrid around out of pity, charity, or genuine affection. That the last option even exists makes Indrid want to take to the sky in celebratory flight. _

_He’s been alive a long time. He knows what a crush feels like, and he knows that's what he feels for Duck. He also feels it deepening into something else, and if he could be sure the ranger felt the same he’d tell him in an instant. _

_His crush is not helped by the fact that Duck asked if he wanted to go for a weekend in Porto Velho and how they’re here, on their second night, at a spot that's a little fancier than Indrid is used to, with Duck looking extra-handsome across from him. _

_Come to think of it, Duck’s looked rather more put-together all weekend, even when they were in parks rather than museums (at the former he’d laughed when Indrid was alarmed by the far too big fish, and at the latter he seemed like he was actually listening when Indrid talked about art)._

_Duck keeps fidgeting during dinner, and Indrid suddenly understands; this is a farewell weekend. He’s going to ask Indrid to leave, is trying to soften the blow. _

_When Indrid declines dessert, the ranger actually frowns with worry, covers it by jokingly asking if Indrid is sick. By the time they get back to the hotel, Indrid is so nervous he can't get the timelines to cooperate in his mind, and so he decides to be proactive. _

_Duck doesn’t turn the lights on, inclining his head towards the balcony. Indrid follows him out into the night air, the city bathing them in light from below and the moonlight cascading down to meet it. Indrid leans on the railing looking out. Duck leans next to him, so close Indrid can count the laugh lines on his face._

_“This has been a wonderful trip, thank you for bringing me.”_

_“Yeah?” Duck’s face brightens, borders on excitement as he turns his body slightly towards Indrid, “I’m glad to hear that. I, uh, worked real hard on plannin it for us.”_

_Indrid nods, glances back out towards the cit, “I will be out of your hair as soon as we get back ho-, to, ah, to the cabin.”_

_Duck’s entire frame crumples inwards, “Oh, uh...okay. Yeah. If that's what you need to do, uh, you, uh, you do it.”_

_Indrid cups his cheek, forcing his fingers to stay still, “Thank you for letting me stay. And for planning me such a lovely send off.”_

_“Indrid, how could I plan for somethin I didn’t think was happenin?” _

_“Ah, um, I simply assumed-”_

_“‘Drid” Duck steps closer, “do you think I want you gone?”_

_No point in lying now, not when Duck is always so truthful. _

_“Yes.”_

_“Did I do somethin? Is this too much? Fuck, it is, ain’t it, I knew the whole romantic dinner for two thing was gonna be too far.”_

_Indrid has been alive a long time. The fact he can still be this oblivious is remarkable to him. _

_“‘Drid, I’m so fuckin sorry, I uh, I thought-” He gasps when Indrid guides his face up for a kiss, and he’s so warm and comforting and _there_ and he’s kissing Indrid back, kissing him like it’s all he remembers how to do_

_When they break the kiss Indrid grins, “You thought right, Duck.”_

_“Oh thank fuckin god.” _

_With that Duck pounces, hooking his hands under Indrid’s thighs and lifting him up, kissing him over and over on their somewhat precarious trip to the bed. _

_Indridi has had plenty of sleepless nights. This turns out to be the first time he enjoys one. _

_And several months later, when Duck returns to Kepler for the screening of a very special episode of _Saturday Night Dead_, Indrid steps off the plane with him, grinning in the West Virginia Sun._


	12. Taste of Home (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 13th was: Strange Harvest

Most days, Duck isn’t too worried about the dirt on his hands or the bits of leaves that stick to his clothes. Most days, he’s not about to meet with a reclusive, wealthy donor to the Kepler Botanical Gardens who has specifically requested Duck be present. 

When he enters the meeting room, Thacker is waiting for him along with a tall, pale-haired man sporting red glasses.

“Ah, here’s Duck now.” Thacker smiles. 

“Sorry, uh, thought we weren’t meeting until-”

“-One. You’re correct, I have a habit of getting a bit, ah, ahead of things t times.” The man offers a wide smile that’s polite but also gives Duck the heebie-jeebies.

“Duck, this here is Mr. Cold. He’s one of the garden’s longest standin supporters. He’s got a project for us, and asked that you be the one in charge of it.”

“I was quite impressed with your work on the native plant section, and I’m told you headed the transplant and maintenance of the tree specimens in the New Zealand section, which is no mean feat.”

“Thanks, I’m real proud of both. What do you have in mind? Is it an exhibit?”

“A private collection. Come, let me show you.” Mr. Cold unrolls a set of plans as Duck shoots a glance at Thacker.

“Didn’t know we did that sort thing.”

“We do for Mr.Cold. Whelp, I gotta go lead a tour. Mr. Cold, I leave you in Duck’s capable hands.”

He joins the taller man in front of the plans; they’re for a garden within a greenhouse, the structure as angular and distinct as the man requesting it. He knows the greenhouse hs Cold’s name above it, is usually used as a teaching space

“I imagine you think me rather selfish for requesting to use your space in such a way.” Mr. Cold doesn’t look up from where he’s making final notes on the paper, as if the answer is a foregone conclusion. 

“Think it’s kinda strange, but I ain’t about to rule on it bein selfish until you tell me what I’m actually doin.”

“I have several species of trees, flowers, and shrubs that I need grown. They are, ah, rather difficult to cultivate anywhere other than their native home, and I am not a skilled gardener at the best of times. Hence my seeking out someone who, I presume, has not killed multiple succulents in the last two months.” The man looks a little ashamed, then clears his throat, “the plants I am asking you to grow are the only specimens of their kind on earth.”

“How’d you get them, then?” Duck tries to keep the suspicion out of his voice, but this feels more and more like some rich guy made an impulse purchase of something that should be in a seed bank or species ark somewhere.

“I brought small specimens over from my home, which is where they grow. But I couldn’t keep them alive, and they were already rare. Last I heard they were all wiped out by an, ah, an illness. I stored seeds from my specimens in hopes of one day regrowing them.”

Duck looks at the diagram closely; the plant’s are actually sketched in, not just noted by name and the number of eraser marks suggest Mr. Cold spent a long time planning out exactly where each one went.

“You’re askin us to do all this because you’re homesick?”

“Yes. I have been away from home for a long, long time. The Kepler gardens have been a refuge for me. Lately I’ve been drawn to the woodland and prairie type sections.”

“I helped with a lot of those.”

Mr. Cold turns to him with a smile, “I know. That is another reason I requested you. But, before we go any further, I must make something clear; these specimens they mean...they are so, so precious to me. And secrecy is a must, for reasons I can only half explain. They would be solely under your care and protection. If that is not a responsibility you wish to take, I understand entirely.”

Behind the red glasses, Duck can just see a glint of hope. 

“Think I’m up to the challenge.”

“Wonderful” Mr. Cold claps his hands together, “in that case, there is not a moment to lose. Here, this is everything you need.” He produces a briefcase, inside which sits ten packets of seeds and three pits, bout the size of an avocado pit.”

“All the information I have on ideal growing conditions is in the attached notebook, and the seeds are labeled. If you have any questions, ny at all, my phone number is in there s well.”

He pauses, smiles, and murmurs to himself, “it's been awhile since I gave anyone my phone number.”

Duck opts to ignore the stealthy glance at his arms and carefully takes the case, “Thanks, this’ll all be real helpful. 

\------------

He doesn’t see his new patron (as Juno calls Mr. Cold) for a week. When he does, he’s on his belly, checking for any sign of sprouts in the greenhouse. 

“How goes the growing?” Mr. Cold asks from the direction of Duck’s feet. 

The gardener rolls over and sits up, “Not much to report, just trying to keep an eye on ‘em so I don’t miss anythin important.”

Mr. Cold offers his hand, helping Duck up, “I appreciate the care you’re taking, Duck. I hope it isn’t cutting into your other work too badly.”

“Had to move somethings around, but that's just the nature of this kind of work.”

Mr. Cold chuckles, “Pun intended?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“Oh. Your, h, your lunch time is coming up right? I was wondering if you would let me take you to lunch as an, ah, extra thank you?” He’s spinning a small ring on his finger, the shyness almost charming, and Duck felt neutral at best about the sandwich he brought today.

“Sure, thanks.”

Mr. Cold grins, “Oh good. Where would you like to go? I hear the crystal palace has a lovely lunch.”

“The fancy Japanese place? Pretty sure they got a dress code.”

“Brush off the dirt and you look completely respectable.”

Duck raises an eyebrow, “I was talkin about you.”

They both stare down at the classy but still very clear pajama pants Mr. Cold is wearing. 

“Fair point. How do you feel about Indian food?”

\---------------------------------

Duck’s stepped into some sort of painting. And here he thought he was just wandering into the birch grove. 

Indrid (“I really prefer that name”) is laying on his back on a bench. Sun streams between the branches, falling across his face, making it all angle and shadow in ways Duck wants to sit and study. His silver hair is ruffling in the breeze, and his glasses are pushed up his forehead. Eyes shut and hands folded on his stomach, he reminds Duck of the paintings in fairytales of someone waiting for true loves kiss. 

He’s worried he might be the one to give it.

They’re having lunch once a week at least now, the awkwardness of the first time melting away as Duck got going on a tangent about dandelions only to find Indrid, elbows on the table and chin in his hands, listening to him so intently he blushed on reflex. Then he was giggling as Indrid pulled a custom-made curly straw out of a small tin in order to drink his Mango lassi. And then Indrid had laughed at his laugh and it all fell into place, the conversation so easy it’s as if they’d know each other for years. 

Then there were the frequent visits by Indrid to the greenhouse to check on the progress. Which, if Duck does say so himself, if pretty fucking good. The plants are thriving, reaching for the light, and the trees are already flowering in deep blue stars, the speed with which they reached adulthood fascinating to him. Sometimes Indrid just comes to see the gardens, but always seeks Duck out to say hello and smile that increasingly charming smile at him. 

But the biggest change has come with Indrid asking if Duck would be interested in designing a small garden for him 

_“Something very simple and manageable. Hardy too.”_

_“Any plant preferences?”_

_“No, I trust your judgement entirely, though you may have to help me with their maintenance the first few weeks, if that is alright.”_

Duck would have done it even if Indrid wasn't paying him. He liked sitting in the living room, surrounded by strange art and crumpled papers, showing Indrid how to tend houseplants. And when they sit on the back porch, each dirt-smudged and grass stained, Indrid sipping soda while Duck nursed a single beer, the other man kept beaming at the new, small patch of garden, Duck’s heart wanted to burst from his chest and flutter around. 

Last night, he stayed late for dinner, and as he was checking over the houseplants…

_“I’m fond of this one. It’s sturdy and makes me smile, much like you.” Indrid murmurs as he steps beside him. _

_Duck slides a smile his way “Dunno, partial to this snake plant we chose; unique and kinda tall, just like you.”_

_It’s the worlds weakest flirtation, but as Indrid steps away his fingers tease Duck’s lower back, “I wonder if they can cross-pollinate.”_

All of this is why Duck decides to leave Indrid be. Because playing prince charming to one of the gardens donors could backfire and shatter his whole career if he reads things wrong. 

The path takes him past Indrid, and he steps lightly. But just as he passes Indrid's head, cool fingers find his own. 

“How is my favorite flora expert today?” Indrid purrs, eyes still shut.

“Good. Uh. Yeah, good. How’d you know-”

“It was you? I have my ways.” Indrid grins, squeezing his hand once before letting go, “are we still on for lunch tomorrow? I can bring you that soup you like.”

“That’d be great.” Duck hesitates, reaches down and ruffles Indrid’s hair. The other man sighs, rubs his face against Ducks palm. 

“I can't wait.”

\------------------------------------------

It takes him until ten pm to remember he left his phone in the greenhouse. Which would not be a problem, except he’s supposed to take a call early tomorrow from Jane, the first time in months they’ve been able to talk.

Plus, he’s been having an excellent text conversation with Indrid until his last rounds, sending him pictures of the plants in the greenhouse, which all look ready to bloom in the next day, and the strange fruit on the trees; speckled gold and white, and smelling faintly of marshmallow. Indrid’s reply texts were filled with excitement (and a great deal of praise, which Duck is thoroughly enjoying). He wants to keep that going as soon as he can.

He finds his phone on the workbench, looks up just in time to see glowing red eyes reflected in the glass. 

Something’s in the greenhouse with him. Which should be impossible, because only two people have the keys. 

Turning, he scans the plants and spots a large, dark shape holding very still behind the trees. Which would work better if said trees were not so thin.

“I am aware this is not a good hiding place.”

Duck gasps, not expecting it to talk, then steps back when the creature emerges. It towers over him, antennae twitching and wings rustling slightly. His mind puts all the pieces together, and he understands only half of them. 

“Why the fuck is the mothman breakin into my greenhouse.”

The antenna flatten slightly, “I am not breaking in. Do you see any broken glass?”

“No, but I got one key, and the only other person with one ain’t here. And put those down, they ain’t yours.” Duck reaches for the two fruits, each clasped between a pair of clawed hands, only for Mothman to raise his arms. 

“They are, in fact, mine. If you would stop trying to knock me over I can explain.”

“Uh uh, first you gotta put down Indrid’s things, then you can explain.”

The creature chirrs, annoyed, and points at its neck, “His things? Such as this key perhaps?”

Duck stops moving, staring at the key before rising his gaze to the mothmans face and meeting his eyes for the first time. 

“What the _fuck_? Indrid, what the fuck?”

A sheepish chirp, “There was not a good way to tell you I am a famous cryptid. At least, I did not feel there was one. I was worried you would be afraid of me if you knew.”

“Feelin a little too confused to be afraid. Did, did I just grow a mothman garden instead of a butterfly garden?”

The laugh is unmistakably Indrid, “In a way. I was telling the truth when I said these were from my home, but my need for them went beyond homesickness. Every twenty five years, my kind are compelled to eat these. It is not fatal if we don’t, but we suffer a very unpleasant illness for several weeks if we do not. I resigned myself to that sickness until I began visiting these gardens, and saw there were people who might be able to help me. My own powers, including foresight, cannot replace a green thumb. Your green thumb went beyond anything I could ever have hoped for. This” he gestures to the trees with their glittering fruit, the flowers blooming in a rainbow of glowing star-shapes, “Duck I, I haven't seen a sight like this in close to a hundred years.”

Duck holds his breath as Indrid steps towards him, bending to rest his downy forehead against Ducks.

“Thank you, Duck Newton. Thank you for giving me a taste of home.”

The human reaches up to touch a black, fuzzy cheek, “Does this mean you gotta leave or somethin, now that I know your secret identity?”

“Not unless you are planning to tell everyone you’ve been acting as the Mothman’s personal gardener.”

“Nah, rather tell ‘em about the cute fella I’m takin to dinner tomorrow.”

Indrid blinks, “You...you do not find this alarming?”

“I mean, you’re big and a little terrifyin, but you’re still Indrid. And it means a lot that you actually stayed and told me who you were, instead of just flyin off.”

There’s a deep purr as Indrid says, “In that case, may I invite you to dinner at my house, Duck Newton? I can even share some of this strange harvest with you.”

Duck grins, drawing his fingers long Indrids arm, “That your way of tellin me they’re an aphrodisiac?”

Indrid nuzzles his cheek and pulls him close, “I guess we’ll find out.”


	13. The Longest Night (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the 31st was: Halloween

Halloween doesn’t exist on Sylvain. However, as in many places, there are rituals and celebrations to mark the end of the growing season, days to remember the departed. For Sylphs, these are marked by The Longest Night, the time when malevolent, restless spirits roam free. 

Tradition dictates gathering with friends to hunker down until darn, dimming lights to keep the spirits from knowing you are home, telling scary stories to keep everyone alert against danger, and eating to keep up energy.

In practice, this means having a giant sleepover and binging on sweets. 

Tradition also suggests that, should attendees have romantic designs on each other, they can use this night to demonstrate their willingness to protect each other. 

In practice, this means inviting a crush to the celebration in hopes of cuddling up in a dark corner. 

Exiled Sylphs continued this tradition, setting on Halloween to avoid detection. And they kept all the practices, especially the romantic ones. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m so excited” Indrid, perched near the fireplace, looks up from his sketch, “I have not celebrated The Longest Night properly in a century.”

“Yeah, we’ve had to keep it kinda low-key in the past because, y’know, no one knew there were a bunch of Sylphs up here.” Barclay shoos the mothman aside so he can tend the fire, “so we’re gonna do it up a little more this time. You inviting anyone?”

“No” the reply is far too fast, “I, that is, there are people I might invite as friends, but none in the more, ah, traditional sense.”

Barclay dusts off his hands, “You sure about that?” 

“Yes.”

The cook nods and flicks his gaze over Indrid’s shoulder. He turns in time to see Duck walk through the lobby doors, chatting with Ned as he helps the older man navigate on still-recovering legs. 

“I don’t know what you are implying, Barclay.”

“That spending half your nights at his house, getting invited on hikes--and then going on them--with him, and the amount of doodles on that page that are his face might be a sign you’ve got a crush on a certain human.”

“I do not,'' Indrid quickly flips to a new page.

“You can’t hide it from me, Cold. I know what I’m talking about.” He teases, standing and stretching his arms, “and the reason I know just got off work, so I’m gonna go see him.”

“Yes, yes, run along and kiss your human.” Indrid waves his hand, aware of booted footfalls getting closer. 

“Hey ‘Drid.” 

“Hello, Duck. Are you staying long?” He tries, as always, to keep his eyes on the ranger’s jacket so he won’t melt into a useless puddle at the first sign of a smile. 

“Nah, promised I’d meet Juno for dinner. Speakin of which,” Duck sits down next to him, making them face to face, “you wanna get dinner or, uh, lunch on Saturday?”

Is he smiling like that because he likes the idea of taking Indrid out? Or is it due to being excited to see his friend later? Is it just because Duck smiles easily? Regardless, Indrid should probably speak rather than stare at him. 

He glances sideways, catches Barclay mouthing something to him in Sylph. 

Fine, he will do this. If it turns to a disaster, he can blame Bigfoot. 

“Actually, Duck, I was wondering if you were coming to the party on Saturday…”

\----------------------

Right before Duck arrives at the Lodge around ten at night Indrid, grooming his feathers for the fifth time in an hour, runs through his plan once more. 

Step one: Choose darkest corner for movie viewing. Arrange for optimal comfort. 

Step two: Bring Duck all his favorite foods as an offering of affection. 

Step three: Date Duck.

The first two steps go off perfectly; Duck takes the seat Indrid offers him without so much as looking at the other options and takes the plate of candy, baked goods, and other snacks Indrid offers him with a grin. 

To increase his chances of a smooth flirtation, he spreads his wings, showing off the green and blue light crackling in his usually white and grey feather speckles.

The human doesn’t notice, likely due to the presence of many candles, the fire, and string lights. But halfway through the movie, Duck adjusts so the right wing drapes over his shoulder. 

Indrid, thanks to future sight, sees all the jumpscares in the movie coming. Duck only jolts on the first few, but then a well-executed one makes him jump into Indrid’s lap. 

As the post-jumpscare giggles ripple through the room, Duck looks up at him.

“Damn, you’re real comfy all mothed out.”

“Thank you” Indrid flicks his antenna, proud, and reaches for the plate, “Snicker?”

Duck opens his mouth in reply, and Indrid feeds it to him. The human angles himself back towards the T.V, shoulder and part of his back resting against Indrid’s chest. 

“Are you comfortable?” Indrid dips his head to murmuring in Duck’s ear. 

“Yep, you’re all nice and fluffy. Pick good snacks too.” 

“I was to pick your favorites.”

Duck’s smile changes to something surprised, “Oh, uh, thanks.”

Indrid purrs, low and quiet, as they focus back on the movie. He knows Duck cannot purr in answer to show his interest, but he’s on alert for any sign that indicates the same general thing. 

“Aw, knew you’d be all happy and shit tonight” Duck tips his head back so he’s looking up at Indrid, “there’s enough sugar here to keep you satisfied for months.”

Summoning all his charm, Indrid runs a claw through Duck’s hair, “There is a lot of candy present, but there is only one sweet thing I need.”

Duck arches an eyebrow, “Nog?”

His charm, and nerve, crawls back into the shadows, “sure.”

“I can go check the fridge if you want. Close enough to nog season for there to be some.”

Indrid tries again, wrapping his arms cautiously around Duck’s waist, “But I do not want you to leave, you're so warm and pleasant to hold. Like a teddy bear.”

A chuckle, fingers stroking his cheek, “Aww, the big ol' cryptid needs a teddy bear for the scary movie. That's real cute. Be right back with that nog.” He pats Indrid’s arms and the cryptid releases him, tracking him through the room until he’s out of sight. 

“I am in hell” Indrid mutters. 

“One of your own making.” Barclay, empty tray in hand, stares down at him, “usually helps to check if a human knows Sylph customs ahead of time. I get the feeling Duck’s got no idea about this one.”

“But plenty of that was flirtation by human standards! Perhaps I am truly terrible at this. Then again, maybe if I show off my wings a bit more..”

“Oh my fucking god just tell him.” Barclay clangs his forehead into the tray in frustration. 

A drawl calls out from the kitchen, “Hey ‘Drid, can you give me a hand?”

The cook shoves the tray into Indrid’s grasp, “That’s your cue.”

The kitchen is dark save for the light from the fridge as Duck reaches into it. 

“There is some nog back here. Need you to carry the glasses, since I’m grabbin’ some refills for Mama and Ned too. Kinda wish I could turn on the lights, but I don’t wanna ruin the moo--oh damn!” The last thing Indrid sees before the refrigerator shuts is Duck smiling, “your wings are lightin up. Do they always do that?” 

“No. Do you, ah, like it?”

“Yeah.” Duck steps forward, holding out the glasses so Indrid will take them, but his eyes never leave Indrid’s wings, “can you control it, like a cuttlefish?”

Indrid inches forward, still holding his hand, “They are emotion based. See?” He traces his claw tips up Duck’s wrist and glows brighter. 

“Oh.” Duck smirks up at him, “movie scarin you that bad?”

The Sylph growls in frustration, not at Duck but at himself, at the fear that rises up and chokes the truth before it reaches his tongue. 

“Wait, are you mad about something?” Duck frowns, worried. Indrid can’t stand the sight of him even a little bit upset, but the words still won’t come. So he does the next best thing, leans down to bump their foreheads together.

“‘Drid?”

“It is nothing, shall we go back to the movie?”

The human rubs their foreheads once, “Yeah.”

As they make their way back to their viewing spot, Indrid decides he will not press the matter further; he will follow Duck’s lead, keep the evening as romantic or platonic as the human desires. More than successful flirtation, more than a kiss, what he wants is to be near Duck and for Duck to be happy. 

The movies give way to a round of scary stories by the fire, Stern and Dani proving the most consistently terrifying. In spite of their talent, Indrid is not the best audience; he responds too soon, doesn’t yelp in horror at the right moments, and sometimes laughs at reactions he sees coming. The upside of this is Duck finds it hysterical, though he tries not to break the mood for everyone else, burying the laughter in the fluff of Indrid’s chest. 

Were Indrid optimistic he’d think Duck was using each bout of laughter to cuddle closer, to leave his cheek on Indrids down and his hands toying with the feathers of his wings. They opt for another round of movies, and the human grumbles when Indrid stands up to retrieve more food, nestles right back in his arms the moment he returns.

_The Masque of the Red Death_ is not as terrible as the other films of the night, but even it cannot distract Indrid when Duck’s hands lazily card through his wings. It occurs to him, with the kind of clarity that only comes hand in hand with fear, that there is no way Duck is familiar with mothperson anatomy and his fingers are about to hit an extremely sensitive part of his wing.

An involuntary purr buzzes out of him. Duck grins up at him, pleased, and touches the same patch of his wing again, scritching and massaging it as Indrid becomes one with the pillows, going pliable and relaxed under the human’s touch. It’s not sexual, not yet anyway, but sweet Sylvain does it feel good. 

“Indrid, for crying out loud, you’re flashing MAGENTA! Get a room already.”

He sits up, glaring at Barclay, pointing a claw at Agent Stern cuddled up in his lap and petting his fur. Duck’s gaze ping-pongs between them, gaining more understanding with each pass. He does nothing else until Barclay and Stern face the screen once more. Then he grips Indrid’s chin, forcing him to look down. 

“You after another kind of sugar, sugar?” His playful smile transforms into one of pure, wicked delight. 

“I, ah, I” this is his chance, and also the moment his mind goes blank and his wings flutter helplessly. 

Duck presses his free hand into the sensitive patch of wing, “Explain. Now.”

He had no idea Duck could sound that way, voice a little deeper and rougher than usual. It lights up long ignored corners of his mind, and he chirrs with nervous arousal, wings flashing white and pale green.

“I’m waitin.” Duck tightens his grip with both hands.

Indrid chirps, forces it to become a sentence, “The Longest Night is, is, ah, traditionally used for flirtation.”

“So that _is_ what you've been tryin to do.” 

“You could, ah, could tell?”

“YepWHOAHfuck.” Duck faceplants into the pillows as Indrid, glasses thrown on, scrambles to his feet and sprints down the closest hallway. He feels rather like the heroine two movies ago, running in twists and turns through the darkness. 

Reaching the farthest hall from the lobby, he slumps against the wall, panting. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“AH!” He backs into the corner, Duck holding out his hands in a gesture of calm. 

“‘Drid, the Lodge ain’t that big. Kinda easy to follow you.” He places his hand lightly on Indrid’s arm, ‘I’m sorry if I came on too strong a minute ago. But will you please just tell me what's going on so I don’t fuck up again?”

“You didn’t fuck up, Duck. I did. I, at first I thought I was being obvious, assumed you knew the customs associated with tonight. Then when I realized my error, I thought I was being too subtle and should just leave it be. But if you knew this whole time then I...I assumed I had been making a fool of myself and you were not interested. Hence the embarrassed flight from the room.”

Duck’s hand slides down his arm, curling around his fingers, “What’d you think all that cuddlin you was? Orthe pettin you?”

“I…” He pulls his hand free, wrapping his arms around himself. 

Duck lets him go, takes a step back, expression gentle but puzzled “I had a hunch you were tryin to put the moves on me, but when you didn’t up the ante I figured I was wrong. I mean, you can see the future, why not just look and see what I’d do?”

“I am not always good at reading subtext, and sometimes I require explicit confirmation of things to notice them. As for my powers I, ah, I was afraid to even look.”

“Afraid? Indrid, I saw you tied up by goatmen and you looked calm. How is askin me out scarier than that?”

“Because I have not felt this attached to someone in years! And…” he stares at the patterned carpet, “and in the first scenario, only I was hurt. If I made an error here, you might be hurt too, think I had only been kind to you for selfish reasons or manipulated you. I do not enjoy that sight, even in futures that never come to pass.” Heart creeping up his throat, he meets Duck’s eyes, “now it is my turn for a question: why did you follow me just now?”

“I was worried about you. I care about you, fluffball.”

“I am only a fluffball part of the time.”

“I know, care about you when you’re a beanpole too.” Duck touches is cheek and, as it always does, the touch makes Indrid turn into the way a sunflower turns into the light, “‘Drid, if you wanna be more than friends, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Would…” Indrid squeezes his eyes shut, “would you like to go out with me, Duck Newton?” 

A kiss the lips, lighter than moth wings. 

“Yeah, sugar, I would.”

Indrid embraces him, chirping excitedly, tries to lift the ranger and spin them around before remembering he can't do so in his human form. Then his feet are off the ground as Duck picks him up, kissing him soundly. 

“Chosen strength has its pluses.”

“Indeed.”

“You want me to put you down?”

“Not just yet.”

“So tell me, mothman of mine, what does magenta mean?”

“Ah” his skin reddens, “desire. And since you are about to ask, green is comfort and blue is affection.”

“And the white?”

“....Submission.”

Duck tosses his head back with a laugh, setting Indrid down, “shoulda used that voice on you sooner I guess.”

“Yes.” Indrid purrs, slipping his hands into Duck’s back pockets

“Plenty of time for me to bust it out later. C’mon, let’s go finish the movie.”

Returning to a chorus of “about time” form their friends, they hunker down in their same spot, Duck resting against the pillows with Indrid’s head in his lap, the Sylph purring as Duck rubs his neck and pets his hair. They make it through two more movies before people start dropping off to sleep. Indrid joins them eventually, snuggling down beneath a plaid blanket with Duck’s head on his chest and his friends snoring or chatting softly all around him. 

And the morning after the Longest Night, Indrid Cold takes his new boyfriend out for breakfast.


End file.
